The Ruse
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Erik de Villiers has been in seclusion since a tragedy tore his life apart. Loving again does not seem possible until a woman in trouble comes tumbling into his life, and turns his world upside down.
1. Chapter 1

**Small A/N:** This is an alternate universe story (non traditional), meaning no Opera Fire, no great disaster, no kidnapping, etc. I have done several traditional stories and wanted to try my hand at something new. I have missed you all, and I greatly hope you enjoy this story. Special thanks to rappleyea, my most devoted beta (and #1 fan)!

* * *

Chapter One

Olivia smiled and lifted her face into the warm May sunshine, then watched avidly as a pair of swans pecked randomly on the still surface of the water. Other species of fowl chirped happily in the trees nearby, and for a few moments she let her mind drift away, grateful to forget why she had come to this beautiful, peaceful community. Sarlat-la-Canéda was hopefully the last leg of a tumultuous journey – one that she had never wanted to make in the first place.

The pressure of the outside world fell away as she basked in the picturesque scene, enjoying the serenity and distant sound of the water rippling softly under the bridge. So lost was she, caught up in her own musings, she failed to hear the steady clicking of hooves on the cobblestone road. It wasn't even the presence of them that first disturbed her – she was well used to noise – it was the abrupt halt that drew her out of her daze. She turned from her position near the center of the bridge, still holding the smile reserved for the sunshine, and spotted a riderless horse at the end. He lowered his head, whickered deeply and pawed absently at the difference in the cobblestone and the wood where the bridge began, listening to the dull echo.

Olivia peered down each side of the bank where the road followed the small tributary of the Dordogne, but saw no one. The horse was well groomed, obviously well cared for, and the saddle was of the finest quality. One of the leather reins touched the ground – the other dangled only a few inches below the bit. Either someone had left their horse unattended for too long, or the clever devil had managed to do it himself. She whistled once, and the animal walked cautiously out onto the bridge, blowing with unease as he ventured further across the wooden planks until he was standing before her.

"My, aren't you handsome?" she asked, reaching out slowly to take one rein. The horse shied nervously, then stood still as she began to murmur words of comfort. He breathed in a great gulp of air, then let it out, content to stand there so long as his feet were still and the echo of his own hooves did not disturb him. Olivia examined the other rein, her lips turning up when she spied distinctive teeth marks in the leather. Very large teeth marks. "Well I imagine someone isn't happy with you at the moment," she chuckled. "And what do you suppose I should do with you now?"

The horse, providing no answer, proceeded to nudge her in the side. She glanced in the direction of town with regret, then groaned. Robert and Madame Beatrice Joliot would likely be missing her soon, and she tried never to draw more attention to herself than necessary where they were concerned. If they had not missed her yet, they certainly would by the time she located the owner of the horse. Briefly she thought of returning and taking the horse along with her, but given her luck, it was entirely possible someone, meaning the owner, might come along and accuse her of horse thievery. And she certainly didn't need that kind of trouble.

Taking the reins, she led the horse in the direction from which it had come.

* * *

Erik de Villiers tromped along the edge of the road, searching in vain for his wayward horse. If he had suspected for even one moment that Trouble would suddenly remember that he knew how to untie himself, he never would have left him tied outside while he ran back into the house to retrieve his sketchpad. The damn horse had apparently grown tired of waiting the mere three minutes it had taken him to go upstairs and return outside, but instead of going back to the stable – which was of course the first place Erik looked – or to visit the neighbor's new young filly – which was the second place Erik looked, it appeared the damn horse had run straight into town. He tracked him to the river road, his anxiety increasing with each step. If Trouble actually had run into town, there was no way he was going after him. He could recall with excruciating detail the last time he had gone into Sarlat, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat. Perhaps Madame Sutlier could ask around when she went into town later, he mused.

He was nearly to the bridge when he heard singing. Female – lovely, but off key. Erik slowed, then stopped, thinking that the only thing worse than actually going into town was meeting a woman on a deserted stretch of road. He held his breath, feeling the pressure build in his chest until he felt distinctly sick. Through the woods at the bend in the road, he could see Trouble walking dutifully next to a woman in a dark brown gingham dress. Her hair, also brown, but with tones of deep auburn, was plaited beneath one of those ridiculously masculine hats with feathers sprouting to one side. Erik waited until the last possible moment to make a decision, which was several moments too late to either hide or run in the opposite direction.

When he finally decided to turn sharply back towards the manor, he heard her voice calling out to him.

"Pardon! Sir!_ Sir_?" Her footsteps quickened, until she stopped behind him. "Monsieur, I was hoping you could help me. This horse was wandering loose near the bridge. Do you recognize him? I am looking for his owner."

He closed his eyes a moment, swore that the next place that blasted horse would go was a grind house, then turned his left side partially towards her. "You've found him, ma'am," Erik said. He waited until she moved to face him, not able to do it himself, and watched as her expression changed from smiling to solemn. "Thank you for collecting him for me."

The woman was silent as she studied his masked face, as if trying to decide whether she ought to remain calm and polite, or scream for help.

"I'm truly sorry," she whispered at last, jerking her gaze to the horse staring hard at some unknown spot on Trouble's nose. She said nothing else for the longest time, until it was clear that he had no intention of saying anything as well. "Here." She offered him the reins, her gaze finally jerking back to his, this time with a forced smile. "That is to say, I'm very sorry your horse wandered away from you. It appears he might have bitten his rein free."

Erik glanced down at the rein – his favorite pair – and saw that she was correct. "Of course he did," he said, taking the leather from her. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He _had_ thanked her, hadn't he? "Thank you," he repeated, just to be safe. "I thought he had outgrown this habit. Obviously I was mistaken."

Her smile deepened then, finally reaching her eyes. "Yes, he looks as if he could be a bit of trouble."

"You've no idea," Erik muttered, reaching up to pat the horse on the neck. "That is his name."

"Trouble?" the woman questioned.

Erik nodded. "My wife named him."

"Wife?"

The woman's eyes lit in apparent relief. Erik didn't bother to elaborate on his marital status. He merely nodded again. "He is aptly named."

"Yes," she replied, laughing. "I'm sure he is."

She turned to face him, offering her hand. "Olivia Joliot."

"Enchanted, ma'am," Erik murmured, grasping her hand and going through the motion of kissing the back of it, with lips that never quite touched her skin. "I am Erik de Villiers. Are you from Sarlat?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "Just visiting friends. I was out walking, just needing a bit of solitude, when this fine fellow came walking by. And you? Do you live nearby?"

"Just up the hill. I was on the way to my studio when I was sidetracked," he said, glaring at his horse. "You've wandered pretty far from town, ma'am. You walked all the way here?"

She nodded. "I've spent four days in one hotel suite with some very - unpleasant company, I'm afraid," she said, speaking the truth. Beatrice and Robert were insufferable, and more so when they were working. "I couldn't bear it another minute."

"I offer my condolences then."

Olivia laughed. "They are very much appreciated, I assure you." She met Erik de Villier's eyes, studied the exposed side of his face for a few moments. She was sure that he could see her curiosity, because his expression became stiff very sudden, and he turned away, leaving her feeling a flash of embarrassment. "You said you have a studio?" she asked quickly.

"Yes."

"You're an artist?" For the first time Olivia noticed he held a sketch pad in his hands, and she was instantly intrigued. She had never met a true artist, but she helped steal a great many fine paintings.

"I build violins," Erik said dismissively. "It is an art, but I am by no means an artist."

"Violins. How lovely. My father always wanted me to learn an instrument, but...," she held up her thumbs, then laughed. "I was infamous to music teacher's everywhere."

She had managed to draw a small smile from him, and noticed that he really had pleasant eyes. She thought about the woman who was married to this man, wondered at the reason he would have to wear a mask. Olivia looked back to the horse, afraid that she would be caught staring again, then patted Trouble affectionately. "It's very nice to meet you, but I really must go. My friends in town must be worried by now."

Erik merely nodded, all traces of humor gone from his face. "Once again, thank you for returning him."

Olivia curtsied, then turned and walked towards the bridge. She had made it a mere ten steps when Erik began to feel some discomfort at the idea of her making the trip to town alone. "Madame Joliot?" Erik gripped the rein in his hand nervously a moment, and looked up to find her staring at him. "If it would be alright, I will walk with you back to the bridge. Or perhaps you would rather accompany me to my estate, and one of my employees could drive you back into town."

"Oh, it really isn't necessary," she assured him. "I'm quite used to being on my own."

"For my own peace of mind, ma'am," Erik insisted. "This is a very desolate spot. I would offer the same to any lady."

Which was really very untrue, Erik acknowledged to himself. To his mother, yes. Even to his sister, were she currently on speaking terms with him. But in the past five years he had not offered such assistance to any woman, most especially not one as lovely as this one. He had no delusions that escorting her to the bridge might result in anything more than the polite conversation he had endured so far. It was no longer in his nature to play the gentleman, yet deep down those tendencies still existed within him.

Madame Joliot, however, did not look quite certain that she wished to have his company any longer. He was nearly ready to dismiss the idea altogether when he heard the clang of a carriage. He turned, relief washing over him when he saw it was the supply carriage that Madame Sutlier drove into town once a week. He had to step in front of the horse to stop her, otherwise it appeared she would have driven right past, not looking at either person standing on the side of the road.

"Monsieur de Villiers," she said, nodding at him, then his companion. "I see that you found him."

"She did, actually," he replied, gesturing to Olivia. "Madame Sutlier, this is Madame Joliot. I was just offering to escort her safely back to the bridge. I take it you are going into Sarlat?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Well then." He turned to Olivia. "Madame Sutlier cooks for me, and also goes into town for supplies. She would be more than happy to give you a lift to wherever you need to go."

"That would be lovely, thank you," Olivia murmured. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Monsieur. It was nice to make your acquaintance."

Erik assisted her onto the front seat, her hand small and warm compared to his own. She looked into his eyes for a moment, and he saw curiosity and pity there. And then she was gone.

* * *

Robert was standing on the boardwalk outside of the hotel when she descended from the carriage, his doughy face red with anger. Her feet barely touched the ground when he had grabbed her arm, roughly yanking her off the street.

"When I tell you to stay in your room, you listen, Livvie," he whispered, his voice low and full of warning. "You should know how this works by now."

Olivia pulled away from him, glaring. "And you should know that I don't take kindly to being cooped up in a room for three days."

She turned back to Madame Sutlier, who was watching them with wide eyes. "Thank you for bringing me into town, Madame."

"Certainly," the woman replied, her eyes filled with concern.

Olivia straightened her dress then swept past Robert, knowing his tirade would truly begin when they were upstairs in front of his mother. She braced herself. There was no stopping the onslaught of accusations that would soon begin. Robert tromped up the stairs behind her, then slammed the door to the room once they were inside.

Beatrice looked up calmly from her needlepoint. "Stop drawing attention to yourself, son."

"Why don't you ask her where she's been, hmm? Why she was riding in a carriage with a complete stranger?"

"A stranger?" Beatrice's gaze dropped back to her work. "A man?"

Robert stamped his foot impatiently. "Well, no."

Madame sat there for a few moments, quietly contemplating. "Would you mind giving us an explanation of your whereabouts this morning, Olivia?"

"I went for a stroll. Madame Sutlier happened to be driving by and I discovered I had gone some distance from town, and she was kind enough to let me ride in her carriage."

"That certainly _sounds_ innocent, Robert, does it not?" Beatrice murmured. "Even though Olivia knows that we much prefer that she stay indoors before a job begins, especially since this may be the biggest take we've ever had the opportunity to go after. And hopefully the last, if all goes according to plan."

"I understand, Madame," Olivia said quietly. "But you cannot expect that -"

"Olivia," she responded in warning. "Remember your place, dear."

"But Madame-"

"Oh, if only my poor Charles was here," Beatrice moaned pitifully. "He always knew how to make you understand the importance of these matters."

"Now do you see what you've done?" Robert demanded. He rushed to his mother's side, the dutiful and doting son. "How could you bring up Charles and upset her so?"

Olivia did not bother pointing out that she had not mentioned her late husband, or defending herself at all. She had long learned their manipulative tricks, and also learned that it was best that she keep silent and let them finish. It did not matter what she said or did. She could not leave them, after all. It was best that she simply keep silent. After a few moments, her mind began to wander back to her meeting with the masked and mysterious Erik de Villiers, and the silent ride back into Sarlat. She had questioned the woman – Madame Sutlier, but the only thing that she would say was that Monsieur de Villiers had been injured several years ago. A fire, she said.

Her heart had gone out to him then, even though she had known from the moment he turned to face her that something had once gone horribly wrong in his life. His eyes had expressed the discomfort he experienced at simply holding a conversation with her, and an old feeling had stirred inside her she hadn't felt in quite a long time. Compassion.

Her life with the Joliots had hardened her. She could barely remember what her life had been like a mere two years ago when she was a blushing, simpering maiden who'd just met the most fascinating man who had ever come into her village. A village that wasn't so very far from here, in fact. Charles Joliot had swept into town on a rainy August night, and two weeks later she had left with him. Not that she had much choice, given that her father had thrown her out, and her mother would not even speak to her. In the space of three months she had gone from cleaning the kitchen in the family inn, to distracting gentlemen with a pretty smile while her new husband cleaned their pockets. And when she had made the acquaintance of his family, she had truly known how wrong of a path she had chosen.

_"I have de Villiers, Mother," _Robert was saying beseechingly._ "I've worked very hard to make sure nothing goes wrong."_

Olivia snapped out of her daze. De Villiers?

_'Oh, please no',_ she thought.

The Joliots never told her in advance who their mark would be, and it appeared now she may have inadvertently jeopardized their plan. She frowned thoughtfully. She felt a spark of hope that she had, in fact, done just that. Olivia knew very well what the plan entailed; she had just not known until this very moment who she would be targeting. And if the Joliots found out later, rather than now, that she had withheld something so crucial from them, they would make her pay dearly.

"He is married," she announced, surprising mother and son. "If you are speaking of Erik de Villiers."

"And you would know this, how?" Beatrice asked archly.

Olivia swallowed, then began to elaborate on the rest of her afternoon. Robert's face, predictably, returned to a mottled shade of purple, while Madame Joloit grew quieter and quieter, a sure mark of anger in the old bird.

"This is all that happened?" she pressed, giving Olivia a measured look. "You are not lying to us again, are you?

Olivia shook her head.

"Erik de Villiers is a widower," Beatrice said flatly. "His wife died in a fire, along with a son, Tylin. His home was destroyed, but his business, luckily, continued to prosper due to a sudden demand for his instruments. _That_, is much to our benefit."

"Mother -" Robert began.

"All is not lost," Beatrice interrupted. "If anything, Olivia may have helped our cause. If she is telling us everything."

"I am, Madame," she promised quietly, feeling dread begin to well in her heart. This one was not going to be easy. Not at all. Sometimes the marks were horrid men – even women, that she would deceive, and sometimes, at the end, she didn't feel quite so terrible. Erik de Villiers had already suffered so much. How could she ever look at herself again, knowing she took advantage of a man who had already lost so much?

"I know that look."

Olivia met the older woman's eyes. "Madame, he wears a mask. To hide scars he received in the fire, I'm sure. How can I do this to a man who has -"

"Oh, you'll manage, dearie," Beatrice said sharply, finally setting aside her needlepoint and rising. "You'll do it to make amends for my poor Charles, and for the other times you have failed to help provide for this family, since you took our greatest provider away. You will do it, no matter how ugly this man is, whether he wears a mask or not, I do not care, _you will do it!_"

"Yes, Madame," she whispered.

"One way or another, you will learn your place," Beatrice addressed her with her most authoritative tone. "You are dismissed, Olivia."

* * *

She stayed in her room for another week, listening to mother and son plot and plan, knowing there was nothing she could do to deter them. Robert now owed tremendous gambling debts, and his mother had debts of her own, debts in which Olivia was now intricately involved. An open locket lay in her lap, showing the photograph of a young man with a boyish smile and magnetic eyes. She remembered those soft, adorable brown eyes, recalled believing she could tell him anything. Her Charles could never trespass upon her trust. Those lips would never lie to her.

"Oh, Charles," she said softly. "Papa was right. You were the worst mistake I ever could have made, weren't you?"

She put the locket away, hiding it carefully behind the lining of her trunk. Robert had sold all of her other jewelry, including her wedding band. She had forgotten to take it off once, and it had led to disaster.

Shame began to tear at her as she remembered what it had been like to be in love. Erik de Villiers had been in love. And now she was to engage him in the most cruel deception of all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I made an error on Olivia's last name in the previous chapter. It should be Olivia Joliot, not Basset. I am not sure how to edit a chapter that has already been uploaded since they made so many changes to the site. **

**

* * *

  
**

Chapter 2

If Mother Nature had not cooperated so well, they might have never found a way to de Villiers. That had apparently been problematic from the very beginning – coming into contact with the famed luthier so they could lay the trap for him. Beatrice even sent her back to the bridge several days in a row, hoping for another chance encounter with the mysterious man, but he had not appeared. And then the rains began, continuing for four straight days, and the street below them began to fill with water. It rained so much that the residents began to reminisce about a flood that had forced half of the lower départment to evacuate to upper Sarlat. The small tributary to the river was now engorged, and their hotel, on the outskirts of town, was directly in the path of the river should it decide to break out of its banks.

Beatrice inquired as to the location of one Erik de Villiers – he had been kind enough to lend her daughter in law a hand when she had wandered out of town too far, and she wanted very much to return a gesture of gratitude to him. She learned that he was nearly alone along that section of river, that the very bridge Olivia had crossed was the only one for miles back into the city. Robert was given the task of disengaging the bridge. She could only hope that once he finished his work that Monsieur de Villiers was safely at home.

Once they had crossed the Dordogne, Olivia felt her breath beginning to shorten rapidly, an overwhelming pressure settling on her. She had never met a mark prior to a job beginning. Never been herself around someone, then completely had to change her personality to make them like her. She believed Erik de Villiers had liked her. Or he possibly could, if he knew Olivia and not this simpering person that Madame wanted her to pretend to be.

They had reached the edge of a forest when the carriage drew to a halt. Olivia looked to Beatrice questioningly. "Why are we stopping?"

"We are waiting for Robert," she said quietly.

Olivia scooted to the edge of her seat, peering anxiously out the window. "But why?"

Beatrice raised a brow. "I thought we had established that you did not ask questions, Olivia. When we arrive at the estate, are you going to continue to be so obstinate?"

"Madame...."

"If we do not pull this off, we will both be in the gaol, do you understand? Monsieur Leverette wants to be repaid immediately, and it is only his good nature and love for Robert that has kept us from there thus far." She huffed impatiently. "I do not understand why these men must have their hand in every game in all of France. Robert does not listen to me either, you know. And look where it has gotten us all!"

Olivia clamped her lips tightly together, and drew to her side of the carriage once more. Oh, yes. She understood very well how deeply they were in debt now. Not just to Russell Leverette either. He was Robert's godfather, and he had been Charles's closest friend. And he knew all of their secrets. Every last one.

She jumped nervously as the hoof beats thundered up next to the carriage. Robert jumped down, clearly breathless and covered in dust.

"Mother?"

Beatrice opened the door to the carriage.

"Make it look as real as you can, son."

"Yes, Mother."

Olivia jerked back as Robert reached for her through the carriage door. "Robert, stop!" She slapped his hand as he grabbed her around the neck. "Stop, I said! What are you doing?"

She cried in pain as he wound his fist through her hair. Beatrice's finger was shoved just beneath her nose, and she struggled against the grip of a man thrice her size. Had they both gone mad?

"Please, what did I do wrong?" she whispered.

"Nothing yet," Beatrice cackled. "But I'll not have you moping around the de Villiers estate as you have been the last few days. You will not ruin this one!" She patted Olivia's cheek, almost affectionately. "Now you had a little accident when the bridge fell through, and it would be best if we did not move you for at least a week. Understand?"

She felt a tear slip down her cheek. They had done this once before, and if she had known, they never would have gotten her into the carriage. "Yes, Madame."

Olivia closed her eyes and waited for the pain to strike.

* * *

Erik watched as the old woman wrung the cloth out and swiped it across Madame Joliot's face, washing away blood and bits of dirt away from the wound above her eye. She was unconscious, as she had been since the old woman had pounded on his door, and he had opened it to find her in the arms of a round faced man who looked as if he were heavily burdened with the slight form. He had not even noticed their reactions to himself, he'd only seen Olivia, and her blood, and he'd taken her from his arms as they babbled on about how the bridge had gone out, and Olivia had smashed her skull against the carriage's head irons.

As the woman worked silently, Erik slowly becoming aware of the other person in his drawing room. The man was strolling around, gawking at the paintings, as he had never seen anything like them before.

The old woman suddenly pressed a hand to her own forehead, and cried out in pain. He suddenly realized that she had a large red mark on her face as well and was entirely disheveled.

"Mother?"

"Robert, I feel faint," she whispered weakly. "I must lie down."

Erik watched as her son helped her into a nearby chair. Neither of them seemed particularly concerned for Olivia Joliot's welfare.

"Robert, could you find me some water, please?" she pleaded.

Erik's attention was already back on Olivia by the time Robert left the room. Concerned, he knelt down near the chaise and began to press a towel against her face, hoping to stop the blood.

Olivia.

How odd that after their encounter, they would meet again so soon. And how odd their second meeting, indeed. Erik had thought about her very often over the last two weeks. He had wondered if she thought of him at all, and scolded himself for implying to her that he was still married. It might not have made any difference, but for a man who had been alone for so long, such a random moment like he had shared with Olivia seemed more like fate than anything else. For several minutes each day, he would replay those moments, until he'd been embarrassed to realize he was behaving like an infatuated schoolboy. He nearly had to tie himself to a chair to keep from going to the bridge, hoping for glimpse of her. It was the first non familial woman he had spoken to in over three years, excluding household staff.

"Madame Joliot?" he whispered, trailing his fingers down her cold cheek. He felt a bit of panic begin to stir inside of him, finally beating away the fanciful emotions that had sprung inside his dried up old heart. "Olivia?"

He glanced up to find the man staring at him again. He had not noticed that he had reappeared with the woman's water, nor that the old woman had drifted off to sleep. He had assumed that this was not Olivia's husband, as she was not wearing a ring, and the man had appeared mostly annoyed that she had been hurt.

"She took quite a blow," the man said, beginning to look concerned. "I hope she'll be alright."

"She needs medical care."

"Is there a village nearby? Someone where we could take her?" He leaned over the chaise and gripped Olivia's chin in his hand, turning her face, then letting it drop.

Erik gave him a warning stare, and nudged his hand away from her. "Sarlat has the nearest physician, but she should not be moved."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, and made a scoffing sound. "If you say so. I must tend to the carriage. The horses were quite spooked."

Erik was left alone with them, but his attention was only for Olivia Joliot. Blood ran into her hairline and had smeared the blue chaise longue. He removed his jacket and placed it beneath her neck, relieved when she began to stir. "Olivia? Open your eyes for me," he coaxed. "Open your eyes."

She moaned in pain, her eyelids squeezing tight. "Aghh," she gasped, her hand going to her head. "What happened?"

"You had an accident. Do you remember what happened?"

Olivia shook her head slightly, "Robert?"

"Robert?" he asked softly. "Who is Robert?"

She opened her eyes, finally looking at him. For several moments she simply stared, as if trying to place him, or perhaps wondering again about the mask, then she closed her eyes again.

"Robert is my former brother in law," she replied quietly. "Where are they?"

"Robert is outside. His mother is lying behind me asleep.."

Olivia exhaled quickly, then attempted to sit up. Immediately Erik put his hands to her shoulders, and held her down.

"Please lie still. You're very hurt right now."

She blinked rapidly, confusion and panic evident in her eyes. She was nearly in tears, and he had never dealt very well with females in distress.

"You're safe," he reassured her. "I won't hurt you, but you must rest. Please."

"You really are too kind, Monsieur," Olivia whispered. She lay her head back down, and closed her eyes once more. "You should send me away."

"None of that, now. You're not going anywhere for awhile. Not with that goose egg on your head."

"It hurts," she groaned.

"I know it does. Just rest. I'm going to see if I can find more towels."

Her eyes flew open, and she gripped his hand as he began to move. "No! I....I would rather you stay," she said quickly.

Erik smoothed her hair back, the comforting gesture he'd always used for Tylin when he'd been unable to sleep. "I'll only be gone a moment."

"Stay," Olivia pleaded, gripping his hand. She closed her eyes, leaving Erik to wonder if she'd gone unconscious again, or was merely resting. He sat with her several more moments, wondering at the sudden invasion of his home, and was nearly ready to slip free of her grasp when he heard the old woman stir behind him. Immediately he drew his hand free.

"Has she awakened?" The old woman stood slowly and moved to stand beside the chaise. She touched Olivia's cheek, tsking loudly. "Poor girl. She has always been so unlucky. I hope she's alright. Livvie? Livvie, dear, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Madame," Olivia whispered, slowly opening her eyes. "What happened? I only remember a loud cracking noise, and then I was falling."

"The bridge gave way just as we were nearly across. It's a good thing Jean-Pierre was driving, otherwise I fear we would have all been swept away."

"Indeed," Erik said quietly. "You are very lucky, indeed, Madame Joliot."

* * *

The stables calmed him. Almost. The smell of cleaned leather and horse, combined with the soft greeting provided by a half dozen curious animals. They never judged him. Never stared. The three people in his home right now had done both. Especially Robert and Beatrice Joliot, as they were now known to him. Olivia was different. She was open and friendly, or rather, she had been on their first encounter. Today she looked absolutely horrible. Blood had soaked through her clothing. Her gown was most likely ruined. Beatrice had ordered their carriage driver to take the long route back into Sarlat for their trunks.

Because at his own insistence, Erik had demanded that Olivia not be moved, not until she had a chance to heal.

And to his utter surprise – and bewilderment, Beatrice had agreed to it.

Maddening. Utterly foolish of him. And yet he was secretly glad that Olivia would be in his residence for a few days, because he wanted to become acquainted with her. He could have done without the other two, but Olivia....yes.

"I thought that was you disturbing my horses."

Erik glanced over his shoulder at Gregory Legnon, his steward and constant thorn in the side. Except that Gregory had become more than simply an employee. He handled all of his estate affairs with the barrister, and tended to almost everything else that required him to meet directly with anyone. He had even taken on the task of ordering Erik's clothing since he had matured into a man roughly the same size as his employer. He had begun working in the stables over three years ago, but in a short amount of time had become indispensable. "I did not see your name at the bottom of any pedigrees."

Gregory snorted. "What pedigrees? The only one you have registered anymore is that damn gelding, and we all know how useless a pedigreed gelding is."

Erik smiled but said nothing as he continued on to Trouble's stall. The gelding did not greet him as the mares did, choosing to ignore him over his food.

"You have guests?" Gregory asked, following. "Unexpected, I presume."

"What excellent intuition you have," Erik muttered.

"How are you going to manage?"

Erik didn't reply immediately. He was annoyed with the question, but he knew that Gregory was only asking because he knew how much of an inconvenience guests would be to him. He blew out a frustrated breath, his hands gripping the stall door.

"I have the studio. I would appreciate it if you would keep me informed of their activities in the house."

"And the injured woman?"

Erik looked at him sharply, judging his tone to be a little too casual. "What of her?"

"You are not concerned with-"

"Do not stir trouble where there is none," Erik snapped, instantly defensive. "She is injured, and she will be well cared for while she is here. I have nothing to do with her being here. I have nothing to do with _her_."

"I just wondered if she needs a doctor," Gregory replied drolly. "But I see you have other things on your mind."

Erik spared him a warning glance, and reached for Trouble's halter. "I am going down to see what damage has been done to the bridge."

Gregory turned and left without another word, but returned with his own mount by the time Erik had his horse saddled. They rode out towards the road, veering off at the last moment to take a private route Erik had used since the accident. Other than his retrieval of Trouble, he did not use the main thoroughfare unless he was in a carriage.

"I do not trust the man. Robert," Erik said, breaking the silence between them. "I do not trust the old woman either, but most of all not him."

"He was nosing around the stables earlier. I tried speaking with him. He told me to mind my own business."

"I can't fault someone for telling _you_ that," Erik replied. "I tell you that often."

"The bridge just gave way?"

"Apparently."

"And Madame....Joliot, is it, was hurt badly?"

"She will be fine in a few days."

"Is she very ugly?"

"No."

Gregory grinned. "Then she's very pretty."

"I'm beginning to regret very much the day I hired you," he stated flatly. "Do not automatically assume that because a female has found herself in the vicinity of me that she is in any danger of falling for my charming looks. And do not think that because you constantly tell me that I need a woman, that I have found one simply because she is here."

Erik didn't need to see Gregory's face to know what he was thinking. He had casually mentioned, during the last year, that Erik would be better off with a new wife. He had even offered to find one for him, were such a thing possible. Besides expressing no outward interest, only suitable outrage, the idea had began to grow on him.

Not that he would have ever considered allowing Gregory to choose someone for him.

"There is a carriage up ahead," Gregory said, interrupting his thoughts.

Erik stopped his horse immediately. They were on a ridge overlooking the river and where the bridge had once been. It was almost completely gone on his side, seemingly swept out from the center. An old man stood near his carriage, scratching his head as he looked on.

"Find out if Sarlat has an engineer," Erik murmured. "It will be an inconvenience on Madame Sutlier to drive anywhere else for supplies. We are fortunate to be well stocked at the moment."

"Do you want me to return with a physician?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

Erik shook his head. "Just return as quickly as you can. Madame Sutlier's sour humor will do Madame Joliot no favors while she is trying to heal."

* * *

Beatrice had grown anxious by the time Olivia awakened the next morning. Erik de Villiers had left the manor sometime before dinner, and he had not returned by mid day. Madame Sutlier had brought up a tray of food for Olivia, and announced that the others were welcome to enjoy the dining room, which had not been used in quite sometime. There had been no sign of Monsieur de Villiers. Olivia was soon chastised for spending the day a-bed, when there was work to be done, and that evening Beatrice laced her tea with enough laudanum so that she was feeling no pain at all, but could hardly walk.

Beatrice dressed her and sent her downstairs to the parlor, where she sat staring at the fireplace until she began dozing again. She felt thoroughly intoxicated, and everything that she did appeared to be at half speed, each motion making her dizzy. The house grew quiet, and after an hour or two, it was apparent that her co-conspirators had gone to bed.

Olivia awoke when she felt something brush her cheek, her eyes feeling so heavy she could barely lift them. It was not Beatrice's harsh blue eyes that met hers, but rather gentle and green ones, one of which was partially obscured by a white mask. Had she not been so drugged, she might have been startled, but in her stupor she merely smiled, finding her senses were prone to gaiety under the influence of laudanum.

"You look terrible," Monsieur de Villiers announced quietly. "Why aren't you upstairs resting?"

Olivia gazed at him for a long moment. "Madame Joliot insisted I sit here."

Erik's jaw tightened. "Madame Joliot can go hang. You should be in bed."

"I rather like it here," she said softly.

Erik removed a linen square from his pocket and dabbed at a her wound, which had grown rather black and purple. The eye beneath it was swollen shut, and the entire area surrounding her cheek was also bruised. "You don't like them much, do you?"

Olivia's brow knit in confusion.

"Madame Joliot and her son," he explained. "On the bridge. Were they the unpleasant company, of which you spoke?"

Her good eye widened. "You mustn't let them hear. They'll be terribly angry with me for saying such a thing!"

"Shhh....your secret is safe with me, Madame."

Olivia closed her eyes a moment, trying to regain her senses. The laudanum was beginning to wear off, but the edges of her mind still felt foggy. No, they must not ever know she had spoken against them. She had never done so before, and she did not want to find out what they might do to her if they ever heard her say something so careless.

"They are good people," she managed. "Life has been very hard on them both since Charles died. My husband. Charles was my husband."

"And life is not difficult for a spouse, when the other has died?" Erik asked, his tone flat.

"I'm sorry. I heard....I heard about your wife and your son." Olivia looked at him, but his eyes were trained on the armrest on the chair, his jaw clenched in anger. "I put that very poorly. I'm sorry."

He said nothing for awhile, his mouth moving once, then closing promptly. With a slight shake of his head, he finally looked at her, whatever demons he might have locked safely away once more.

"Forgive me for being gloomy. Please, allow me to get a maid to assist you upstairs."

Olivia glanced at the clock above the fireplace, and waved him away. "It's far too late. I will manage on my own. Please don't disturb your staff."

She stood, her legs slightly wobbly, but she was able to walk safely across the room. She was nearly to the entrance when she remembered that she was not here as a house guest, and he was no mere lord of the manor. She had a job to do, and if Beatrice found out she had passed an opportunity to grow closer to Monsieur de Villiers, it would be most unfortunate for her.

Olivia placed a hand against a chair for support, and feigned a swoon. Before she even came close to hitting the ground, she felt his hands gripping her arms tightly, and found his gaze hard upon hers.

She didn't even have to ask. In a mere blink he'd lifted her in his arms without effort, and for the second time in as many days, carried her to safety.

_'My noble prince,' she thought sadly. 'At the end of this, I am not the one who will need rescuing.'_

Olivia's head rested against his shoulder as he climbed the staircase, his footsteps barely making any sound on the polished wood. He kept his gaze trained on the path ahead of him, but it occasionally strayed down to the place where her bodice ended and the soft swell of her breasts began. She was a beautiful woman, despite her injury, and he wondered if it was ill luck or not that she had rather literally crashed into his life. It surprised him how easy she was to converse with. Despite having a more than mild case of anxiety after she had been put to bed the previous day, he nearly had to force himself to remain at the studio rather than going to the manor to check on her.

It was not Olivia herself that made him so uncomfortable. It was her two companions – always staring. Always silent. Especially Robert. He knew there was something rather odd about him. Something devious in nature. But he would tolerate him for Olivia's sake.

At her door he hesitated a moment, but she opened it for him, lifting her head in question when he did not enter.

"Is something wrong, Monsieur?" she whispered.

He swallowed. "May I set you down here? I wouldn't want to be improper. Mada-"

"I think Madame Joliot would understand," Olivia returned gently. "But if you would much prefer it, then yes, you may leave me here."

Erik set her down slowly, allowing his hands to linger on her waist for the pretense of keeping her steady.

"Good night, Madame Joliot," he said quietly. "Please, get plenty of rest tonight."

She held out her hand expectantly, palm down. He leaned down, placing his lips briefly against her skin.

"Please, call me Olivia."

Erik bit his lower lip, stifling an urge to smile. She continued to gaze at him, looking nearly a comical sight.

"Good night, Olivia. Sleep well."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Erik spent the next day in the studio, sketching absently at his desk. This was not the same studio in which his father had worked. He had added more windows to allow for more light, and created an octagonal, acoustically sound room that helped his instruments throw the perfect pitch, every single time. And he had not spent his days toiling over only violins and cellos. He had expanded his business to commissioned works, which sometimes meant building finely tuned pianos, guitars, cherished violins – or the occasional oboe. His passion was the commissioned works – he threw himself into creating unique and precise instruments, because he knew that those pieces were for the true music connoisseur. But most of his time was spent building standard violins for his contract with the Opera Populaire. He missed the Opera. He missed Christine, hearing her voice and knowing what it felt like to sit in his box and know that she sang solely for him. He grieved that he had lost Tylin, and the chance to pass on his legacy to him.

But today his mind was not on Christine. It was not even on instruments, or music in the slightest, though he did catch himself humming once or twice. He was working, but was not being very productive, considering he had been sketching Olivia's profile for over two hours. He couldn't quite satisfy himself with the angle of her cheek, made more difficult because he couldn't quite remember what she looked like before her accident.

Ayesha stared at him from her perch on the corner of his desk, her crossed eyes unblinking and curious as his pencil moved quickly across the paper. He was honestly surprised that she had not pounced on his hand, but she merely stared, as if to say,_ 'If you are ignoring me, I don't quite care.'_

The first two years after he had lost Christine and Tylin, it had never really bothered him that he might never find someone again, that he might never know again the feeling of love and being loved. He had been heartbroken – horribly depressed to have lost both his wife and son, as well as coping with the changes with his body. It had destroyed him completely. Despite every attempt by his mother to cheer him up, he had seen how difficult it was for even her to look at him. He'd said nothing the day she brought him a finely crafted leather mask. Woodenly he had accepted it as a substitute for his face, growing accustomed to it more than baring his damaged skin for all to see.

The past three years, however, he had come closer to accepting the loss of Christine. He would never quite recover from Tylin's death, and even now his mind had blocked many of the memories of that terrible night. Meeting Olivia had reminded him of what he'd had, and the companionship he now secretly longed for. Had fate brought her into his life for just that purpose? She was beautiful and gentle. He very much desired her, though it unnerved him to imagine disrobing before anyone.

He muttered beneath his breath, grumbling at the sketch pad. The portrait was not going well. He tossed it onto the desk, startling Ayesha, who jumped down with an angry hiss.

Erik spun his chair around, looking out the window at the path which led back to the house. It was nearly dusk again. He wondered what Olivia was doing and how she was feeling.

With a sigh of impatience, he pressed his fingertips against his eyes. There was only one way to find out, and it of course meant going home.

* * *

"He's coming around very nicely, or so it seems," Beatrice said, tapping her nails against the windowpane. "You need to find out where this studio of his is located, and pay him a visit soon. Prove to him that you are on the mend. If you seek him out, he will take that as a sign of your interest."

"Yes, ma'am," Olivia replied dutifully.

"And you must compliment him somehow. Men love to be paid compliments too, you know." She turned from the window, looking concerned. "He seems very sensitive about his appearance," she mused, "and rightly so. Perhaps something else. Has he mentioned his work?"

"He said that he builds violins."

Beatrice tsked at her. "A de Villier is no mere violin builder, Olivia. Their family made a name for themselves over one hundred years ago, and the current Monsieur de Villier expanded on an already great legacy. He is not only a builder of violins, my dear – he is a collector of them."

"A collector?" Olivia repeated carefully.

She saw a gleam of satisfaction in Beatrice's gaze, and wondered if that was why they were here. The Joliots had once run a large auction house, selling everything from ancient Chinese artifacts to fine jewelry. They had contacts in every market, and only the most profoundly unique goods had been sold through their company – only most of the items sold had been either frauds or stolen items. They had been caught at their game only a few months before she had met Charles. Now Monsieur Leverette ran the auction house under a new name, and anytime they came across something truly magnificent, it was purloined for a sale, with Beatrice and Robert earning a very high commission.

"Yes. He has a Stradivarius. And a de Gesù." Beatrice gave her a long, appraising look. "Hmm. I wonder, if I were to tell you a few things, if it might give you more insight into what we hope to accomplish here."

"Certainly, ma'am," Olivia murmured. "What sort of things?"

"Well, to be clear, you must be able to keep these things out of your conversations with Monsieur de Villiers. It would raise questions that you will not be able to answer. You cannot even hint that you know anything about his family or his background. Nothing, do you understand?"

Olivia nodded.

Beatrice moved to sit beside Olivia on the bed, busying her hands by preparing a new poultice. The swelling had gone down significantly since Monsieur de Villier's cook had brought it for her. Olivia held very still as Beatrice pressed it to her forehead, her gentleness surprisingly motherly in nature.

"Erik de Villiers was married to an opera singer," Beatrice began. "Her name is not important, all that you must know is that he doted on her. For the last fifteen years, only his instruments have been used in the orchestra at the opera, so he was rather well known among certain circles. Before his injury, he had a passing acquaintance with Monsieur Leverette, who is a great fan of opera. And Russell Leverette, as you know, makes his fortune by knowing the details of everyone's business."

"Including the de Villiers," Olivia stated slowly. "That is how he was chosen. Because of his connection to Leverette."

"Yes, Olivia," she said, her tone indicating she did not like the interruption. "After his accident, Russell kept in touch with Madeline de Villiers, Erik's mother. She told him of his horrific injuries and how he isolated himself. She was devastated by the loss of her only grandson." Beatrice's eyes grew suspiciously bright for a moment, and Olivia knew she was feeling a rare pang of sincere grief for Charles. She blinked and shook her head, the look vanishing from her face in an instant. "She rarely keeps in touch with her son now. He doesn't respond to her letters. He refuses to leave his estate, and for the last two years, she has been bed ridden. Russell suspected that if a young woman were to find and seek him out, he might trust her enough to share some of his wealth. Through a legal, binding marital agreement, of course."

Olivia swallowed hard.

"The Stradivari?" Olivia asked cautiously. "Is that what you are here for? Why don't you just take it? Why must I marry him?"

"Because Monsieur de Villier's pockets run very deep, Olivia," Beatrice said quietly. "If you do this correctly, we may never have to work again."

"You've said that before," she mumbled, her chin dropping to rest on her chest.

"I'm not getting younger, Olivia. The last two times we have tried this, we have failed. Without Charles, these things just do not run as smoothly as they once did. Robert just does not have the skills necessary to do things the way that they need to be done."

Olivia said nothing, knowing how much of that was true. Charles had been a showman, a great entertainer. He could tell the most fascinating story to a crowd of people, and by the end of it, more than half of them would be missing their wallets and pocket watches. Robert was a sullen, morose man. He threw tantrums, and often it did not matter where, or in front of whom. And he had always been insanely jealous of his younger brother.

"Madame, how much will I earn?" Olivia asked hesitantly. She had never asked before. Her money had always been Charles's money, and after he died, Beatrice had absorbed it all to cover her son's debts. "If this were to truly be the last time. Would it be enough for me to-"

"Leave?" Beatrice asked sharply. "You want to leave us? You think that you are entitled to anything, after what you have put us through? What price do you put on my son's life?"

Olivia sank back against the pillows, her hope deflated. "I am sorry, Beatrice. That wasn't what I meant."

Beatrice opened her mouth to argue further, but a knock at the door interrupted them. She turned, pressing her finger of her lip as she went to the door.

"Yes?" she called, her tone sounding old and frail.

A long pause came from the other side of the door, then the sound of a man's throat clearing. "It is de Villier's ma'am. I've come to see how Madame Joliot was faring."

She actually looked pale as she turned to face Olivia, wondering if he had heard anything, but there was nothing she could do but keep moving forward. "Get up," she whispered urgently. "Sit at the window seat." She turned towards the door. "A moment, Monsieur, and we will be with you."

Olivia moved from the bed to the soft cushion as quickly as she could. Beatrice hurried to her side. She moved a chair far away from the window seat with great effort. "Remember what I told you. Pay him a compliment. Do not mention anything you shouldn't."

"Yes, ma'am," she said quietly, her nerves standing on end. It was the first time since she had met him that she wouldn't be either unconscious or drugged with laudanum. At the moment, she felt like she could use a dose to steady her hands.

She watched as Beatrice strode to the door and opened it for him. He stood staring at the bed for a moment until his gaze found her at the window.

"Come in," Beatrice said quickly. "Do come in, Monsieur. Forgive me, I was just reading to Olivia. We didn't disturb you, did we?"

"Not at all," he replied, slowly moving into the room. He stood near the door, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to bolt back through it. Beatrice must have sensed his discomfort, for she shoved a book into his hands.

"You wouldn't mind taking over, would you, Monsieur? My throat is terribly dry, and I have the most awful headache," Beatrice said, rubbing at her temple. "Olivia has just grown terribly bored, I must say, sitting up here with an old woman for company. Would you read to her?"

"If it would please the lady?"

Beatrice cut her eyes over to Olivia, giving her a most persuasive look.

"Yes, please," she stated invitingly. "And I believe I asked you to call me by name."

Without another word, Beatrice left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Erik moved towards the chair, but changed direction when Olivia patted the cushion beside her. He slowly sat down, his eyes trained on the book.

"She was reading this to you?" Erik questioned.

"Well, I am having trouble with distances," she said, chuckling and pointing at her own eye. "I can barely eat now, I seem to always miss my mouth."

Erik held up the book for her to see. _"Methods of Fertilization?"_

"Oh." Olivia felt her cheeks turn red. "I believe she must have picked up the wrong book."

Erik scanned the room, but did not see any other sources of reading material. He jerked nervously when he felt her hand touch his, and any thoughts he might have been having fled.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Erik," Olivia said sincerely. "May I call you Erik?

"Y-yes," he stammered, moving away several inches. She appeared amused by his gesture, and he found it hard not to glare in response.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

Olivia turned her gaze out the window, sensing she was about to frighten him away. "You have a very lovely home. I would love to see more of it sometime."

"You are welcome to go anywhere on the estate."

"To your studio?" she questioned. "May I see what you do for a living?"

"As soon as you are well enough," he conceded. "How do you feel today?"

"I hurt," Olivia answered honestly, "but it is not as bad as it was."

She turned to find him staring at her. The late sun was shining directly into his green eyes, giving them a golden, beautiful quality. For the first time she really looked at the exposed side of his face, and realized he was a strikingly attractive man. He had dark, nearly black hair. A brooding face, it was, but he was handsome in a dark and austere sort of way. He was certainly well formed, from his wide framed shoulders, to a lean waist. His legs were long and appeared athletic beneath his wool pants. And he had long, well shaped fingers that spread out from a wide palm. It was as if finally seeing him for a man, not simply a person wearing a mask. She knew she was supposed to grow very close to this man - kiss him, touch him. In the past it had never gone so far as to making love with a man, but Charles was no longer here to shield her from that. She wondered how far she would have to go this time.

He was so innocent in all of this. He would never understand when the truth came out.

"What did you build today?" she asked, forcing herself to lean closer to him.

The question, and her sudden nearness surprised him, and he blinked for a moment. "I...I didn't build anything. I was.... designing something."

"Something you want to build? An instrument?"

He looked away. "You might say that."

"Have you been to see the bridge?"

Erik nodded. "It's gone. You were fortunate that you weren't swept away."

"Madame Sutlier tells me there is no bridge for miles and miles?"

"A half hour north of here, there is an area that can be crossed when the water is shallow, but the flood may have changed the bottom of the river. It may no longer be possible to cross there. To the south is a smaller bridge, but I suspect that if the bridge here was unable to withstand the high water, then there wasn't much hope for that one."

Olivia feigned a sigh. "I know this must be a terrible inconvenience for you. I wouldn't be angry if you wanted us to find other accommodations."

A muscle in his jaw began to quiver, and she could see a dark blush creeping up his neck. "I would hate for you to fall prey to some other misfortune. You will stay here. My steward should be arriving any moment with a physician."

"Well, I can't speak for the Joliots, but I would very much appreciate a few days rest before I return to Paris."

Erik turned his head sharply. "You are from Paris?"

"I have lived there for the last three years, but it is not where I call home." Olivia felt a wisp of loneliness reach her heart. She had not had a chance to say goodbye to her parents before they died. Even though she had felt all the righteous anger of young love, denied permission to see Charles because her father hadn't fallen for his easy charm. They had died only a few months before Charles, and he hadn't allowed to her return home. Now it was Beatrice who refused to allow it. "I haven't been there in a long, long time."

"Your parents?"

"They're both gone. Influenza. My Aunt Cora wrote to me after they had died. I've never even visited their graves."

"Speaking from experience, Madame, it never truly helps to go there in any case. Such a loss.... well. I don't have to explain this to you. It seems we have something in common."

She felt her eyes begin to water, and gave a small sound of gratitude as he handed her a handkerchief. "Everyone I've ever loved has died," she agreed softly. "It's almost as if you are...."

"Cursed," Erik finished.

He turned to face her, wondering at the connection he had felt to her so quickly. Was it only because she was the first woman he had met since Christine? Or was there something else?

She gave him a smile.

"I think that sounds terribly depressing, don't you? Life does go on. No matter how often we wish that it wouldn't."

"You have an assuredly positive philosophy on life." He swallowed, opening his eyes when he felt her moving toward him. He forgot to breathe as she leaned in, her hand bracing on his shoulder as she steadied herself. Her lips grazed his cheek with utmost tenderness.

"I've found that it is the only way to live, Erik."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Beatrice and Robert listened with delight as she told them of her encounter with Erik. She left out the part about kissing him, as she was not quite sure why she had done such a thing. Perhaps because he had looked a little lost and alone, and she had felt the same, or maybe because she had needed to feel that sort of connection once more as well. The way he had run away from her had not been quite so spectacular, and for the first time she understood how detached from his emotions he was. A small gesture – a kiss – had frightened him terribly.

"So he's given his permission that you can go round the estate?" Robert mused. "What about his studio? I've looked everywhere for those violins, and I can't find an instrument in the whole house."

"You be careful, Robert. I don't like the way that young man that works in the stables watches us. He comes into the house at odd hours, you know. He's not very friendly," Beatrice chided. She looked back to Olivia, taking her hands. "Now then. We must talk strategy. Do you think Monsieur de Villiers fancies you, Olivia?"

Olivia swallowed hard. "I couldn't say, Madame. I'm not looking very fetching right now, am I?"

"No," Beatrice returned, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "I said to make it look real, Robert, not to nearly beat her brains in. One blow would have been sufficient, but _three_?"

Olivia blinked. She had blacked out after one.

"Sorry Mother," he said. Olivia noticed that there wasn't a trace of contrition in his voice.

Beatrice reached over to pat his hand. "That's alright son. You just don't know how strong you are, do you?"

He beamed happily, and Olivia rolled her eyes.

"What do you think about seducing him? It should not be very hard, you know," Beatrice said. "He's obviously not in contact with a great deal of women out here, and I find it difficult to believe that any would come here. Monsieur Leverette said that he does not see anyone. I think it will work, Olivia." She tapped her lips with the tip of one finger. "Surely your looks do not matter so much, given his own. I will come upon you myself – Robert would never know what to say. No, I think it would be best if I did this alone. We can't wait so long that you are well. He seems a bit skittish, and I don't think it will happen the first time you try. I think it will take much longer. You must get to work on this immediately."

"Yes, Madame," she whispered around the lump in her throat.

"It'll be alright, Livvie," Robert said comfortingly. "Leverette didn't say anything about him being a brute, so I guess he'll be gentle. Sorry he's an ugly fellow, but at least he's a rich devil!"

Olivia glanced away, biting her tongue. She had never liked Robert, not from the very first. He was always a little too eager to please his Mother, and if that meant stabbing her in the back, all the better. He would turn on her instantly, like a vicious dog. He could playact this sweetness all that he wanted, she knew him for what he really was.

"I have a surprise for you both once this is over," Beatrice said suddenly. "We're going on a nice long vacation, just the three of us. I haven't decided where yet. Perhaps we might even travel abroad! And when we get where we are going, I think that you should marry."

Robert's mouth fell open.

Olivia just stared at her in shock.

"Each other?" They both asked at once.

Beatrice nodded happily. "Now Robert I know that you do not care for the idea, I can see that you don't, but it is time that you settled down. There is no reason why Olivia can't be your wife. She is already family, and she knows our secrets. Despite her shortcomings, she is ideal for you. I know it will take some getting used to, but you have never doubted me before. Will you at least think about it.....son?"

Olivia noted that no one asked her opinion. By the decisive gleam in Beatrice's eyes, she knew that this would be her punishment for asking to leave them. Whether or not she actually married Robert, the thought of it alone would torment her. And what about Erik? If their plan succeeded here, she would have a husband. Did they expect her to be a bigamist, or was their scheme even darker than they were letting on? Olivia glanced again at Beatrice, grinning now like an evil Cheshire cat, and felt an chill of dread race down her spine.

At least, she thought, Robert did not look any happier with the arrangement than she did.

But when had it ever mattered what he wanted?

Mother knew best.

* * *

Erik stared out his bedroom window at the storm clouds that were again building. After several days of brief sunshine, they had returned to bring rain from the skies. A different sort of storm was brewing around him, courtesy of Olivia Joliot. She had kissed him._ She_ had kissed _him_.

And within seconds he had stumbled over his own feet to get away from her, ignoring her call of concern. He had panicked, pure and simple. He had not ever expected to be touched in that way again. Certainly not so soon after meeting someone. It had been tender and compassionate. And absolutely terrifying. He'd looked into her eyes, mesmerized by their summer sky color, and by the way they met his, so soft and accepting.

Dangerously tempting.

He still found Olivia's scent around him. Lavender and something more intoxicating. Something very much her own. He'd wanted to touch her face. Her hair. He'd wanted to do a great many other things, but fear had driven him away.

At least now he would have not trouble sketching her. Olivia was now so firmly in his mind, he knew that if she ever left, there would be a discontent in his heart. He knew that once she was gone, he would never see her again. Nothing tied the Joliots to Sarlat, apparently, and their meetings had been quite a coincidence. And he also knew that somehow, Olivia was a more than reluctant companion to Madame Joliot. He had heard the what she had said to Olivia, and wondered what it meant.

_"You want to leave us? You think that you are entitled to anything, after what you have put us through? What price do you put on my son's life?"_

She was either in trouble – or at the very least, she wasn't happy. Erik didn't want to see her leave. He knew he would never see her again. And he might never find another woman who could look him in the eyes and smile at him the way that she did. It wasn't that she did not notice the mask or stare – she had done so numerous times. There was simply something in her expression that made him feel as if she would not ever cast aside his emotions. He wished he had the courage or the right to ask her to stay, but in truth, he barely knew her.

His gaze was drawn to movement in the garden below, and he watched as Madame Joliot strode after her son, her angry voice carrying up to his room as she called out. He couldn't make out the words, but he could certainly understand the tone. He drew back in surprise as Madame Joliot's hand came up and cracked across Robert's face.

"Well, you are certainly not the dainty lady you've portrayed yourself as, are you?" he murmured.

He started to open the window to find out what they were discussing, when Robert suddenly glanced up at his window. He pointed, and Madame Joliot spun around, a scowl evident on her face.

Erik did not bother waiting to see what they would do next. He closed the curtains and moved to sit at the foot of his bed.

"If you want away from them, Olivia," he whispered, "maybe I can be of some help to you."

* * *

"The doctor would not come, Erik," Gregory announced as he came into the studio that evening. "Apparently the river has become cause for concern throughout the city, and he has too many patients. He did tell me to make sure she had at least two weeks of rest before she travels, and sent along a tonic for the pain. I delivered it to her a few moments ago. She _is_ lovely."

"How kind of you," he snorted in response. "And have they examined the bridge?"

"An engineer is coming from Paris to examine it, but it may be months before they get around to it. The bridge to the south was damaged when a portion of this one rammed into a piling, but it is usable."

Erik returned to the viola he was working on, trying to concentrate on what he was doing. Even with Gregory standing next to him, all he could thing about was_ her_. The blade slipped from the wood, and he snatched his hand back just before it could cut him.

He cursed soundly, and tossed the blade onto the work table.

"Does your offer still stand to find a woman for me?" he demanded suddenly, turning on Gregory quickly.

He could see the surprise in the young man's eyes.

"Of course," he uttered. "You want me to return to Sarlat?"

Erik scowled at him.

"I meant her. Olivia Joliot."

Gregory's eyes widened further. "I meant a _prostitute_, Erik. You want me to arrange something with a respectable widow? A veritable stranger?"

Erik turned and braced his hands on the table. It shamed him to even ask this, but he could not imagine asking Olivia such a question. There were two or three small cottages on the estate. She could live there comfortably there for as long as she wanted. And perhaps one day, they might come to a different sort of arrangement. He explained himself to Gregory, but when he finally met his gaze again, he could see doubt in his eyes.

"You think she would deny me?"

"Not for the reason you think," Gregory replied, his tone cautious. "I've only just met her, but in my experience, a woman likes a certain amount of wooing."

"I do not _woo_." He gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. "I would look absolutely ridiculous trying, even if I remembered how."

"You were married, Erik. What did you say to your wife to convince her to marry you?"

He gazed at the table until he could no longer see it, picturing Christine in her favorite green dress, which she had said matched the color of his eyes. He remembered weeks of lyrical poetry, of flowers and chocolates, of slow meandering carriage rides in the country outside of Paris. Expensive jewels and shameless flattery. He couldn't imagine uttering such silly words now.

"It doesn't matter what I said to my wife. I can't repeat those words to Olivia. I wouldn't mean them. It would not be fair to her, or to Christine's memory."

"If she is as unhappy as you say, perhaps she would consider it," Gregory said slowly. "Perhaps she will never speak to you again."

"How helpful you are," Erik replied with sarcasm.

He turned to find Gregory studying the floor with great interest, and knew the young man most certainly did not want to be placed in this position. But it was the only way.

Wasn't it?

"I think you should offer her another position," Gregory finally said, meeting his gaze. "I think you ought to ask her to marry you."

_Marry?_

"Are you insane? She would never agree to that in a million lifetimes. We barely know one another!"

"You know her well enough to think she would be your mistress and live on your estate, but not enough to marry you? A wife and a mistress are basically the same thing, you know."

"Speaking from experience? And where did I miss it when you acquired either?" Erik demanded. "Just answer me, damn you. Will you do it, or not?"

"No. Not Madame Joliot," Gregory replied apologetically. "If it's simply a quick toss you want, there are plenty of women who would be willing to do it for a coin. I think we both know that Madame Joliot is not one of them."

"I will not pay for that sort of thing," he muttered beneath his breath.

"Then I suppose you know what you have to do."

* * *

Olivia spent most of the night tossing and turning. She hadn't meant to give Erik de Villiers a kiss, despite Beatrice's orders. The tonic that Gregory Legnon, Erik's young and boyishly charming steward had brought her, had been too bitter. She would rather ache than take another drop of it even though she knew it would no doubt put her soundly to sleep. Still she stubbornly refused to take it.

Restless, she finally left her room. It was after midnight, and Madame Joliot always retired early. She had scarcely seen Robert since her arrival – Madame generally kept them separated because they argued anytime they were near one another. She could only hope Erik de Villiers was also asleep. She needed to walk around, but she was not eager for his company again so soon.

Olivia wandered downstairs, not wanting to take a chance that she might wake someone up. The home was only two stories, not the austere, grand palace she had expected for a man of Erik's stature, but it was finely furnished. Madame Sutlier had told her that this was the house Erik had grown up in, not the one he had lived in with his wife and son. That was the home that had burned to the ground. Beautiful artwork graced the walls, and besides the small library, there seemed to be books everywhere. She glanced into the library as she passed. The fireplace had a low fire in it. With the rain, the house had become depressingly damp, and though the fire looked inviting, she moved down the hall and entered a long room with windows down all one side. She paused and lit a lamp. The white walls gleamed with the moon shining in, and Olivia could see a large portrait at the center of the room above another large fireplace.

She turned to the portrait on her right of a young woman with soft green eyes and a shy smile. The plate beneath it stated that it was Emma de Villiers. She supposed it was Erik's cousin, or perhaps a sister, because she looked remarkably similar. The next few were of mostly older relatives, many of the men holding instruments, some of the women with a child or two. Olivia paused at each one, reading the names and studying their faces. She stopped short as she came to the one above the fireplace, and set the lamp on the mantle as she stared in wonder.

"That portrait was done a long time ago."

Olivia jerked around, startled to see Erik leaning against the doorway. She watched as he pushed himself away and came to stand beside her, staring up at the portrait. She followed his gaze. It was his family, that much she had guessed. A stunning beauty sat holding a cherub faced young boy who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to climb from his mother's lap so he could cause any sort of trouble. His smile simply spoke of mischief. One of his fists was holding onto a lock of his mother's dark brown hair, and behind her eyes, Olivia could detect a weariness there. But it was not just mother and son that had her staring - it was the tall, dark haired man who stood next to them. His wide green eyes bore out of the painting, causing a shiver to run through her. This man hid behind no mask. And he had no need – he was quite handsome, and she could see that he had been a happy young man.

"This is Christine, my wife," Erik said quietly. "And that is my son Tylin."

"I – I hadn't meant to pry," she whispered weakly.

"No. I wasn't thinking that." He turned to face her, a strained look on his face. "I wanted you to see this, Olivia."

She glanced back at the painting. "To see you without...a mask?" she asked timidly.

He took a deep, calming breath, then gestured absently to an ottoman in front of the fireplace. Obediently she sat down, and watched as he began to pace before her.

"Yes," he replied finally. "I wanted you to see what I _once_ looked like without it."

"Monsieur de Villiers, you don't owe me any explanations. If this is about what happened earlier, it was never my intention to....," she paused, grappling for words. She drew away, trying to stop the rapid beating of her heart. She was delving into very private matters with this man, and she didn't want to enter this corner of his heart. This was sacred. She had no business hearing these things.

"Olivia?"

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

Erik stopped, and she looked up to find his face contorted in anger. He had taken everything she'd said out of context. He thought she was rejecting him.

"I thought you might understand. Obviously I was mistaken."

"_You_ don't understand."

"Perhaps you can explain it to me then," he snapped.

"Please sit. Please don't be angry with me," Olivia pleaded. "I only meant to say, that it was never my intention to bring up these terrible memories for you. I don't want you to hurt, as I hurt, whenever I must relive the past." She held out her hand to him. "Please sit with me."

He slowly sat down, but he did not touch her. His eyes were trained on the floor when he began to speak.

"It is painful. Every single day, there is pain in my heart. And physical pain – it has never quite gone away. I was burned in many places. Not just here....," He lifted a hand absently towards his face. "I was sick for a very long time. An infection set in. And you were right before. Life does go on, even if we don't want it to. There are some days I still feel that way." Erik looked up at the portrait again. "The man you see there no longer exists. I can't even sense him within me anymore. One day I was a strong, blessed husband, and the next, my life was completely destroyed."

He looked so lost, she reached for his hand. He didn't pull away, but Olivia could sense that he hadn't really felt her touch.

"Tell me what happened," she said softly.

Erik gave a dry laugh. "I still do not know, to this day. Christine and I were in love. I married her when she was very young. She was my sister Emma's very best friend, and when I came home from University one summer, I fell." He snapped his fingers together. "Just like that, I knew that I'd found the woman I wanted to marry. She was a student at a conservatory in Paris. When I went back to school, I sought her out. I went to her lessons with her. To dress rehearsals. Anywhere I could find Christine. She wasn't quite as taken with me, but I persisted with gifts, flowers, poetry. I would have given her anything. She had but to ask. We were married before Christmas that year, and soon after she was with child."

"At first she was angry that she had to leave the conservatory, but once Tylin was born, I never heard one more complaint from her lips. After he began walking, she started taking lessons again, and I would play piano while she sang. I never thought I could be so happy."

"She was an opera singer?" Olivia pressed.

"Oh, yes. She was magnificent." Erik rubbed his temple, then took a deep breath. "But I was not the only man she ever loved."

"Your wife was unfaithful?"

"I believed so. She always denied it."

"Who was he?"

"He was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. He has an estate nearby. Before I married Christine, they were sweethearts, but he joined the Royal Navy. When he returned, he discovered Christine singing at the Populaire, and he visited her in her dressing room. I had not attended the performance. Tylin and I both had a fever. My mother and Emma went with her instead. I suppose she was overjoyed to have found her long lost love."

"I'm so sorry, Erik."

Erik stood suddenly, moving to stand in front of the painting, he gazed up at his dead wife. "He came to our home one night, a few weeks after his return. We fought. I don't know who did it, but a lamp was knocked into the draperies. We were so intent on killing one another that I never even noticed. He pushed me through a burning wall. I was unconscious, and when I awoke, the entire house was on fire. As was I. He was running through the house, screaming Christine's name. I got up and tried to go up the stairs when they collapsed. I saw the Vicomte go down as well. My leg was pinned beneath the railing on the stairs. And then there was Christine. She saved me. God above, I'll never know how she did it, but she dragged me out of there."

Erik faced her once more. "Then she went back inside, and I never saw her alive again."

Guilt set her heart aflame. Never in the years since she had engaged in these devious games had anyone ever reached into her soul. It wasn't only his tragic story that melted away that wall of reservation she'd always firmly kept in place. It was him. The way he spoke. The look in his eyes when he gazed at her. The way her heart stuttered when neither one of them could glance away.

"Where was your son?" she finally managed to ask. "He was inside too?"

"They told me that they found him with his mother. She was trying to save him, as she had me."

He'd told the story with dry eyes up until now, and he bowed his head for a few moments, struggling for control. She stood and touched his shoulder hesitantly; felt coarse hair where it should have been soft, and realized suddenly that it was not his own.

Almost immediately he removed her hand.

"I know that you must think it strange, that I am telling you all of this," he said quietly. "After all, we've barely known each other a week now."

"Well, that isn't true," Olivia replied, trying to lighten the mood with a teasing tone. "We've known each other almost a month now."

Erik managed a weak smile, and suddenly looked far more nervous than he ever had. "Olivia, I can tell that you are not happy with your former mother in law. I know that there must be some reason you have stayed with them this long – and it is not my intention to pry into your reasons – but I do see that there is a certain amount of misery in your eyes."

She stared at him, speechless. What could she say to that, after all? She was miserable. She had been even before Charles had died. Robert and Beatrice both had seen to that. He took her hand, looked sincerely into her eyes, and suddenly it felt as if her stomach was plummeting to the floor.

"You could stay here, Olivia. As long as you wanted."

"As your wife?" she asked frozenly. Of course, this was what she had come for, after all. But so soon? She had not expected it so soon. And with such affection blooming in her heart for him.

"If that is your wish. It would be on your terms," he amended hastily. "If you chose not to marry me, I could provide other accommodations for you, however, I would like you to know that that is not my wish. I would only ask that we have an affable friendship of sorts. I would not make demands of your emotions. Indeed, I am most likely not capable of returning feelings, were it even possible that you would have them for me. We would not have to marry immediately. We would not have to marry at all. There are several cottages on the estate. You could stay, Olivia. Just stay. I would not come to you unless you asked for me."

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

"I don't expect an answer now," he said in a rush. "You may take all of the time that you need, and know that I would not bid you farewell in anger, should your answer not be what I am hoping for."

"Why are you asking me?" Olivia whispered. "There must be dozens of -"

"Not to sound too effusive, you are the first woman I have met, aside from my staff or immediate family, in over five years. I have much preferred my solitude." He sighed. "Only, the last year or two, I have began to desperately want companionship. Please, think on it Olivia. I realize that your first choice in a new husband would not be a scarred, emotionally unstable recluse. And of course, being a mistress to the same sort of man would be even more lowering, but I can see you are not happy in your current position. Perhaps this would benefit us both. Perhaps not. As long as there are no....no children...you will be free to go at the time of your choosing, and I will even give you a generous settlement. All I can say is that I would treat you as a fair and equal partner. I don't believe your former mother in law understands the meaning of fair or equal."

He moved away from her and was silent for several moments while she continued to grapple with what she'd been offered.

"I won't ask again. Please, just think about it."

Olivia nodded, unable to reply. He left the room, and her eyes drifted up to the portrait again. Christine de Villier's eyes no longer seemed to express weariness. There was a new meaning behind the narrowed tilt of her gaze now.

"Don't you judge me," Olivia whispered to the dead woman.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Olivia barely saw Erik for the next two days. Finally able to leave her room, she explored the estate and the grounds, even spotting his studio, though she went nowhere near it. She couldn't explain what she was feeling to him; she couldn't quite grasp it herself. For so long she'd wanted to be away from Beatrice and Robert, and he'd simply tossed her the lifeline that she'd needed for so long. Little did Erik know how far the strings attached to her would go. She could say nothing to him now. Beatrice's plan had worked all too well, though Olivia had not mentioned the proposal to either of them yet.

And he did not mention it to her either, however briefly she would see him. He'd seen her in the garden one evening, and had stopped to see how she was doing. He was glad that her wound was beginning to heal nicely. No, he had not seen a brown dog running through the garden, but he assured her that it belonged to Gregory, and it was perfectly harmless. Yes, he was building an instrument. No, he didn't expect the rain to return, and yes, he was hopeful that it wouldn't.

She'd come up with the most inane things to ask him, not quite knowing what to say to him, but he'd expressed nothing but calm. Almost as if her answer to his proposal did not matter to him, or perhaps that he'd forgotten that he had ever asked. She was ready to scream each time Beatrice reminded her that she was here only for one purpose, and continuously pressed her for details of her conversations with Erik. She was afraid to tell her. Afraid it would mean providing an answer to Erik that she was not ready to give. Afraid that more than anything, she was beginning to want to say yes for the wrong reason. Not because it was what she was supposed to do. Because it was something she wanted. _He _was what she wanted. Or at least a life here, away from Beatrice. Was it possible to escape so easily?

His scars mattered less to her than if he'd announced that he was poor as a church mouse. She had been married to one of the most charming, handsomest men in the world. Charles had been capable of deception and inconsideration, then could be romantic and sensitive. She had never known what to expect with him. Erik was different. She was older now. Much wiser than she had been at seventeen. And during her years with Charles and Beatrice, she had learned to detect when someone was sincere.

Olivia had found herself at an unexpected crossroads in her life. She was afraid to turn back, to return to her village. Her parents were dead. Her Aunt Cora had not made a secret of her disapproval of Charles either. To refuse him meant a life with Beatrice and Robert. No longer could she imagine a life without color or laughter any longer. She could always leave – simply disappear into the night. Or she could finally grasp onto something and hold. To Erik. To a life here with him. It suddenly seemed the safest, most obvious choice.

And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

* * *

Erik returned to the house after dinner, nearly three days after his proposal to Olivia. He had only seen her for a few moments, hours earlier, and she'd seemed rather nervous. His own stomach had been twisted in knots, as he wondered if he had made a mistake. He barely knew this woman. He'd known Christine for several years before he'd fallen in love with her, and it had ended about as badly as it could. He could still remember being consumed with jealousy, demanding to know if she had shared her bed with Raoul de Chagny, and accusing her of outright lying when she denied it. His heart had been broken well before that fatal night. He wasn't eager to repeat those feelings of insecurity that had led to sudden rage. And neither was he eager to spend his nights alone until he died. He could offer Olivia refuge. Security.

Would it be enough to compensate for everything else?

Erik knew that he was completely vulnerable to the attentions of a woman. To any attention. He didn't want to think from _any_ woman, but he had to admit to himself the truth of it, even if he never could to Olivia. She was conveniently here. She was beautiful, and she had been unfailingly kind. He would have forever called himself a coward if he had _not_ offered for her. They were good solutions to each others' obvious problems, were they not?

He was nearly at the foot of the stairs, when he heard a sound behind him. He turned, thinking that it might be Olivia, but was dismayed to find Beatrice Joliot advancing on him. He had been fortunate to scarcely encounter her or her morose son during their week long stay, despite her few subtle attempts to question him about the amount of time he was spending with her daughter in law.

"Monsieur de Villers, a word?"

Erik returned to the sitting room, wishing he had waited until she had retired. The woman seemed to do so every evening when the sun went down. "Madame Joliot? Is there a problem?"

"No. I just wanted to speak with you," she said, smiling slightly. "I haven't had a chance to visit with you. I know that our meeting wasn't very conventional. Are you doing well?"

"Assuredly, Madame," Erik replied stiffly.

"Wonderful. That is wonderful, indeed." She proceeded to sit down, and looked pointedly at him until he had little choice but to do the same. Apparently some rules of etiquette were still lingering around in his brain somewhere after so many years of doing whatever he pleased. "I was just telling Olivia that it is such a lovely home you have here. It was so fortunate that you lived close to the bridge, and that you had already met once before. Fortunate, and a wonderful coincidence. It was simply...."

"Wonderful," Erik supplied dryly.

"Indeed."

She beamed at him in a way that seemed almost genuine, but he knew this old kitten still had her claws. His own mother had never been the type to play games. He sensed that this one wanted something, but it was more as if she were manipulating him somehow rather than simply asking. He briefly wondered if she were trying to get rid of Olivia. Which wouldn't make much sense, considering what he had overheard.

Madame Joliot sighed heavily. "I do know how much of a burden we have been to you. Which is why we shall be leaving very early tomorrow morning. Olivia is doing well now, so there is no further need to put you out. I do believe she has grown fond of you, Monsieur de Villier. She has been such a prideful widow. I had hoped that one day the grief of losing my son might bear with her a little easier, but..."

"Beatrice!"

They both turned to see Olivia hovering at the doorway, her face pale and her eyes simmering with dark anger. She looked from one to the other, before her gaze finally settled onto her mother in law once more.

"Olivia! I thought you were upstairs reading."

"I must speak to you privately," she said softly. "Please wait for me in my room."

"I beg your pardon?" Beatrice asked, her eyes widening.

"_Privately_, Madame," Olivia replied more insistently.

She held her tongue and rose, murmuring an apology to Erik as she stood. As she walked past Olivia, the expression on her face spoke volumes.

Olivia waited until she was gone before she looked at Erik.

"She does not speak for me," Olivia said softly, moving to stand by his chair. "Not from this moment forward."

"No," Erik agreed. "I can see that she does not."

"I will not keep you in suspense any longer, it is doing neither of us any good. My answer to your question is yes."

He stood so swiftly that she nearly stumbled backwards, and he gripped her arms to hold her steady. "To which question?" he asked, his tone frightening with emotion.

"To be your wife. Erik, you should know that I was only seventeen when I married Charles. I was young and green. I obeyed him without question, and when he died, I began obeying his mother. You have offered me a second chance. I can't guarantee that I will be so compliant with your every wish as I have been in the past."

"I have already said that I will not make demands on you, for which you are unprepared. But your life here will not be enchanted, Olivia, for I am no prince. I do not entertain guests. I do not attend parties. You do understand that you will be almost exclusively alone here?"

She gave him a small smile. "We are talking each other out of this, then?"

"I just wanted you to know that you should not expect to have a husband that will stroll with you down the street while you look in the windows. Or attend a play. Or even church, or any other event, for that matter," Erik said, his expression somber. "I cannot offer you everything that you wish. Everything that you deserve."

"I wish to be free of Beatrice and Robert," Olivia whispered. "You are giving me the greatest gift you could possibly imagine."

Erik glanced at the staircase. "You do not have to do this alone."

"I must," she said softly. "Will you promise me something?"

"Anything," he vowed.

"Whatever happens, please understand that I will be as good to you as I can possibly be. Don't ever forget how grateful I am to you. I want to be married as quickly as possible."

"I will have Gregory make the arrangements," Erik replied quietly. "Notify Madame Sutlier if you need anything at all."

She nodded, then began to turn away.

"Olivia, wait," he said, stopping her. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, elegant diamond ring. "This was my great-grandmother's engagement ring. Her husband bought it for her in Rome over one hundred years ago."

She forgot to breathe as he slipped it on her finger, forgetting that this wasn't a real engagement, and that he had not really proposed for any reason other than the convenience of having a wife. It felt very real when she looked up into his eyes.

"This is not Christine's ring, in case you were wondering," he said quietly.

"I wasn't," she returned, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

"Then it is only fitting that you should wear it."

Olivia was embarrassed to feel her eyes begin to water. Her throat grew tight, and she blinked until it felt as if the tears were under control. She had not been paid such a sincere compliment in a very long time. Until now she had not realized that she needed one. How long had it been since Erik de Villiers had been given one? She wondered what it cost him to say something like that to her now.

And she found that she could think of absolutely nothing to say in return.

Instead she kissed him, just along his jaw. His hands started to go around her, but she stepped away from him before they encircled her. She could not take tenderness or passion from him yet. That would come soon enough.

"I must go," she whispered.

She turned and flew up the stairs without waiting for an answer. And on the other side of the door, she was met with something far more difficult than the romantic intentions of her future husband.

* * *

"You stupid, arrogant girl. Do you really think he is simply going to marry you, just for a few moments of pleasure between your legs? My son may have fallen for your seemingly insipid character, but Monsieur de Villiers is a wolf. Take my word for it, Olivia. That man will do you violence when he discovers how you have deceived him."

Beatrice advanced on her once more, but Olivia held firm. She noticed that Robert did not seem opposed to the idea at all. He sat back in the chair, brooding quietly. "He does not need to know, Madame."

"And why would I agree to keep such a thing secret?" Beatrice demanded. "Why would I agree to let you go? You're mad if you think that I will. You owe just as much money to Russell Leverette as I. Charles' debts are yours now, Olivia. Don't think that he has forgotten you. I assure you that he has not."

"I will handle my own affairs with Monsieur Leverette. And I will compensate you." Olivia opened her trunk and searched inside of it for her locket. She handed it to Beatrice, hoping to find even one ounce of compassion inside of her. "I was raised to be an honest, good girl. My parents are gone. My husband is dead. I have no one left. I want out. Please let me go."

She waited, watched as Beatrice opened the locket and saw her son. It was the only portrait of him that was left. They had no home anymore. It had been sold. The paintings in the house were gone. The Joliots had nothing left of Charles. And now neither did she. Robert reached over and tried to take the locket from his mother, but she snapped it closed, curling it into her fist and holding it to her breast.

"I will request a generous allowance from him," Olivia said quietly. "I will send you money every month. You only have to keep my secret. And please, do not steal from him. This will be a source of steady income. It will always be here. So long as you do not take advantage of him, or prove yourself to be deceitful. Believe it or not, Madame, kindness goes much further than the methods we often use."

"Hmph." Beatrice sat down, opening the locket once more and gazing down at her son. "You have certainly given me something to consider. But this is not what we agreed on."

"I never agreed to this, Madame. I never wanted any of this."

"You certainly never complained when we were doing well," she replied sharply. "Not when my son risked his neck just so he could buy you fine things."

"I am doing my part by marrying him, Madame. But I am not going to deceive him and then leave. I am going to become his wife in every sense of the word, and I am going to hope that he never finds out why I came here in the first place."

"And if I go down there right now and explain it to him? What will you do then?"

"I will disappear," Olivia said quietly.

"With what money?"

Olivia held out Erik's grandmother's ring. A mere threat. She truly did not know if she would do such a thing, but she felt satisfaction when Beatrice pursed her lips.

"You will send us your allowance?"

"I will send you a portion," Olivia said firmly, "and you will be satisfied with what I send, or you can find money elsewhere."

"I think it sounds fair, Mother," Robert said, glancing at Olivia. She could see that he was secretly relieved that she would not be shoved off on him next. "If she doesn't get us what we need, we can always come back. She's just a silly little thing. She doesn't know how to exist without us telling her what to do."

Beatrice raised a brow in response, and Olivia knew that she would take it all if she could. She would have to fight them tooth and nail for one franc.

But as understanding and greed began to dawn in Beatrice's eyes, Olivia knew that she had finally won a small battle. She could only hope her victory would see her through for a long time. For her sake.

And for Erik's.

* * *

She saw more of Erik's steward, Gregory, than she did of Erik in the next few days. He came to inquire about her needs for the wedding. To ask if she wanted to make a trip into Sarlat for a dress, or if he needed to send a courier to her family, informing them of her marriage. There was no one she wanted to attend, but she did write a letter to her Aunt Cora to let her know. Perhaps one day she could go visit her. For now, she simply wanted to say her vows and say goodbye to the Joliots. Beatrice had promised to leave the day of the wedding. She needed time away from them.

And she recognized that she needed time to heal. To become herself again. It was the only thing that might make a marriage between her and Erik work – if she could be honest with him from this moment forward. Honest, and sincere in her feelings toward him. Affection and loyalty.

She need not pretend undying devotion. Erik seemed content merely to have her here. She was not foolish enough to think that he did not expect the full rights of marriage. He was a man, of course he would – but she sensed that he would be respectful of her feelings. If she did not want his attentions, he would not pursue her. Still, she could not imagine ever saying no. She did not want to see disappointment in his eyes. A part of her very much wanted to salve that wound. To show him that whatever had happened to him did not matter. She would never treat him the way that she knew he expected her to - with revulsion and pity.

Her wedding day approached more quickly than she realized. Gregory had arranged for the minister of a small parish church to accommodate them at the manor. The furniture was cleared from the parlor, and Madame Sutlier had placed a few flower arrangements around the room. It was a small and very intimate wedding, much like her first one had been. But this time she was not a green girl, and her groom was not intending to ruin it by behaving reprehensibly to her family. He would not steal the small inheritance that she had, and lead her down a frighteningly wrong path. Erik simply wanted a wife. Companionship. And that was what she wanted. A simple, normal life, with a man who needed her for something more than helping to lie or steal.

It was still terrifying to walk down those stairs to meet him. Daunting to look into his eyes and repeat the words after the minister, whom she barely noticed. Erik was solemn as he spoke the words, saying them carefully and slowly. He glanced around nervously, his face flush with embarrassment, and she knew it was because he had to stand before the Joliots and Gregory Legnon and make his vows as well as the minister, and a few of the household staff who had come to watch. Olivia took his hand and silently pleaded with him to only look at her. And he did at last repeat those words, gazing into her eyes as if he meant them more than anything.

Within fifteen minutes, Olivia had a new husband.

And Erik, for the second time, had a wife.

* * *

"You looked delightful today, Olivia," Robert said to her as they were getting into the carriage. "Don't forget what you promised Mother. Or else."

Olivia felt her face redden. She knew that Gregory Legnon had heard him. His head had turned sharply toward them from the back of the carriage where he was loading their trunks. His gaze bore into hers for a long moment, and he glanced at Robert.

"Madame de Villiers?" he questioned, his voice full of concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Gregory. Robert was just saying goodbye," Olivia replied, glaring at the big oaf. It was always his mouth that caused trouble. He never knew when to shut it. She almost missed Gregory calling her Madame de Villiers. Almost.

"Get into the carriage, Robert," Beatrice barked out.

She watched as they rode away, and felt a buzz of nervousness and raw excitement flutter through her. She was free. Finally.

"What he said to you...."

"It was nothing," she replied calmly. "They're gone now. Robert is an ignorant fool. Pay him no mind."

Gregory nodded reluctantly. "Is there anything else you need?"

Olivia looked up at the big house, and apprehension settled into her stomach. "No. I believe that will be all for the night, Gregory."

"Have a pleasant night then, Madame de Villiers."

"Call me Olivia," she replied automatically. "And you have a good night as well."

She moved forward, never taking her eyes off the house. Erik had stayed inside while she said goodbye. He had said absolutely nothing since the ceremony. There had been little fanfare afterwards in any case. No dancing. No cake. He had asked for it to be that way, and she had not seen a need to go through with tradition. There was nothing traditional about this marriage, after all. By the time she returned to the parlor, all of the furniture had been moved back into place, and the flowers were gone. Almost as if a wedding had never taken place at all.

"Erik?" Olivia called out, her voice uncertain. She glanced up the stairs. Surely he had not already retired. But wasn't this what he had wanted from her, after all? Security in exchange for something else. Her legs trembled as she moved forward, her hand on the banister. It seemed she could not force herself to move up them.

"Olivia." He said her name from the hallway, and she found him standing at the door to the library. She was only able to see his masked face, and realized that it was becoming as familiar to her as the rest of him. "Come in here a moment where we can talk," he said quietly.

"Of course," she murmured, following him inside. He shut the doors behind her.

"Madame Joliot and her son are gone, I expect?"

"Yes," Olivia replied nervously.

"And the minister?"

"Gregory sent him on his way earlier."

They were both silent for several minutes, and the air grew thick with tension. Olivia stood to one side of the room squeezing her own hands together anxiously, and Erik grew preoccupied with the titles of the books on the wall. He finally pulled himself away, and placed his hands on the back of a sofa, staring down at the cushions.

"I know that you are wondering what will happen tonight. I merely wanted to notify you that I will not be....visiting you anytime soon. You may rest at ease. If_ that_ happens at all, it will be of your choosing, not mine."

He didn't look at her as he spoke, and Olivia could see that the wedding itself was not as terrifying for him as the prospect of a wedding night. He really had not felt a woman's touch in over five years? That was a long time for any person to go without the touch of another. Especially a man. But she could not help but feel relieved that he had said it, and she found that she could not persuade herself to go and comfort him and let him know that one day his attentions might be more welcomed than they were at the moment.

"Thank you, Erik," she replied instead, the words barely coming out.

Erik said nothing in reply. He simply turned, and left the room.

Then the house.

Olivia did not see him at all for the remainder of the week.

* * *

A/N: I realize most of you are a little taken aback at the turn of events....the point of the story isn't really for Erik to find a woman and fall in love with her, then marry her, I just thought it would be a little interesting if things were a bit backwards. This is nowhere near the end, I assure you.

2nd A/N: One of my older stories (A Fleeting Memory) is being adapted into a comic! Please check out my profile for the link to a few preliminary sketches of Erik and his time in Persia with Laure.


	6. Chapter 6

I will be out of town for a few days so not sure when I'll update next. This short chapter has sexual content. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Erik did not think he could stand the studio for another minute. It had begun raining again, and the sound beat against the roof, driving him insane. He paced the floors, wondering if he ought to return to the house and take back the words he'd said on his wedding day. But she had _thanked _him - for not demanding that she share the marriage bed with him. He should have just let things happen naturally and hoped that they worked out in his favor. Instead he'd taken the coward's way out because he had feared she might deny him anyway. Cut, before being cut. He never wanted to be denied. He cursed the luck of having this face now when he wanted something so much, knowing that she would look at him and see a mask.

It was not, after all, the first time he had taken refuge in the studio rather than going into the house. He often slept in the small room behind the main workshop. The house at night was too quiet, too large. And sometimes when he closed his eyes he would awake, thinking he smelled smoke. He never slept very well at the house. But then again, he hadn't had a wife waiting there for him in a very long time. He hadn't sketched Olivia in days. He hadn't needed to. She was there now, every time he drew in a breath. He wondered what she looked like with her hair down. In only a dressing gown. In nothing at all. He wondered, and worried. And waited to find the courage to go back to the house and see if she was more amenable to consummation.

He did not have to wait long – but he'd hardly found the courage when he heard the distinct jangle of a carriage outside the studio. Erik opened the door to find that Gregory had brought her to him, and he glared at him, wondering what was going on. She stepped out of the carriage, laughing as Gregory attempted to open an umbrella before the rain could touch her clothes. Jealousy stole through him. Had his wife found another way to occupy her time – and so soon?

But no – Gregory would not do that. He knew that the young man would not betray him that way. Besides, Gregory had come to irritate him almost every day that week, demanding to know why he was not with his wife instead of in the studio alone.

"I hope we aren't interrupting your work, Erik," Gregory said apologetically. "Your wife, wanted to see your studio."

"Yes, it's been rather gloomy at the house with all of this rain. I hope you don't mind." She peered up at him, and he searched her eyes, wondering why she had come. Boredom, perhaps?

"Not at all." Erik accepted the umbrella from Gregory and held it over Olivia as she went inside. He watched as his steward went back to the carriage and climbed aboard. A little burst of panic hit him then. "Where do you think you are going?"

Gregory didn't respond. Erik fumed silently as the carriage rolled down the hill without Olivia. He was startled when he heard a loud clatter behind him, and turned suddenly. Olivia had knocked over an empty wrought iron music stand.

"I'm so sorry," she said, trying to set it right.

He rushed forward, seeing that it was far too heavy for her. "It's fine," he muttered, taking it from her and moving it out of the way. She met his eyes, and he could see that she was as nervous as he was.

"I wondered if you might show me what you do," she asked meekly. "I'll try not to break anything."

His mouth quirked, but he didn't smile. "Of course I will. What do you want to know about?"

"Oh." She looked almost dismayed, gazing around the room. "I'm afraid I know nothing about all of this. What are you working on right now? Could you show me that?"

Erik nodded, and crossed the room to unlock the heavy doors to the gallery. There were over one hundred instruments inside at the moment. Gregory was to ship them out to Paris soon. "I just finished this viola," he said, pointing at where it was hanging, "and this cello," he said, pointing again. "These instruments are for a new school that is being built to teach blind people to play instruments."

"How wonderful," Olivia said softly. "I have heard that when someone loses one of their senses, that the others can suddenly become more attuned."

"My grandmother was blind at birth. She could play the piano better than anyone I have ever met," Erik murmured.

Olivia reached out to touch the cello. "These are beautiful, Erik. I can't imagine what it must be like to build something that can give such pleasure. And are you able to play all of these?"

"Of course." He felt slightly offended, until she turned and gave him one of those smiles that let him know she was teasing him.

"Will you prove it to me, then?"

Erik faltered for a moment. He had not played for anyone since Christine. It was not a matter of skill – but he did not want the attention that it brought. He did not want her to look at him as he lost himself in music.

So why did he agree to it?

She perched on the edge of his desk as he hefted the cello out of storage. He pulled the piano bench away and sat down, placing the instrument between his legs. He didn't look at her as he played, choosing Bach's first Suite, simply because it came to mind so quickly. The studio filled with the deep powerful reverberation of the cello, making even the floor beneath his feet and the bench he sat on pulsate. He played, as always, with great passion. He'd never only given half of himself to music. His father had wanted him to pursue something other than just building the instruments he loved so much, but he'd never quite found the time or energy once he'd met Christine. And then, well....

His fingers practically flew across the strings, his arm grew taut from moving the bow. The song filled him with something deep and warm, almost like love or desire. It was one of the reasons he played so much. So that he could simply_ feel_.

He opened his eyes to find that she had moved off the desk and was standing before him. He stopped playing, startled to see her so near.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I've never heard anything like that before."

Erik watched as she touched the scroll, her fingertips gliding down towards the neck. He hesitated only a moment before he asked, "Would you like to learn how to play?"

Olivia's eyes widened. "A cello?"

He nodded, and twirled the instrument out of the way, inviting her to sit in front of him. His insides tightened when she sat down, arranging her skirts out of the way. She gasped and jumped in surprise when he slid the cello into place between her thighs.

"Oh."

"Place your fingers here," he instructed gently, guiding her hand to the neck and placing her fingers on the appropriate strings, "and hold the bow with your other."

Erik's bare face was pressed against the side of hers as he helped her draw the bow across the strings. She was stiff in his arms, and he feared he had made a major error and frightened her away. But he'd wanted to be close to her. Wanted it more than anything.

"Just breathe," Erik whispered.

He moved his fingers across the strings, and eventually she let both of her hands fall, and he was simply playing around her – for her. She melted against him, and it was the sweetest thing he'd known in several years. Her head rested on his shoulder, her hands touched his legs, and he knew at once why she'd come. He breathed in against her neck, and felt her shiver. Desire raced through him, commanding him to touch her. Instead he swayed with the song, taking her with him up into paradise, where only music could take them. The last strains had not died away before she turned her face toward his.

"Do you know why I came here?" she asked him.

"I....I believe so," Erik stammered.

"I thought we might come to an arrangement," Olivia said carefully. "So that we do not misunderstand one another again."

"Again?" He repeated.

"Our wedding day. I did not mean to imply that we would never....that I would never consent....," Olivia paused, trying to find the right words. "I wanted us to become better acquainted first. But I realize now that we should not prolong this. Because we have both been alone for a long time. And because there is no reason that we should not, now that we are married."

"So you suggest we do this quickly and be done with it?" he questioned, his tone flat.

Olivia's face turned crimson. "I did not say that you had to be quick. You may take as long as you need."

"Olivia, do not toy with me" he said in warning. "Did you come here to consummate the marriage?"

"I'm suggesting an arrangement," she said again. "Would once a week be sufficient?"

"Yes," Erik replied immediately.

"On Saturdays?"

"Today is Saturday," he said hoarsely.

She smiled in response. "I hadn't realized."

Olivia leaned into him, turning slightly so she could kiss him without craning her neck. She felt it when the breath slammed up into his throat. His hands came around her spanning her back and drawing her closer. Erik's eyes grew heavy as she raised her lips to his, and he kissed her soft and slow, tasting her for the first time. The wedding kiss had been brief and chaste. This kiss was neither, but a combustible thing that grew hotter and uncontrolled, until everything inside of him was shaking with a need for release. He pulled himself away.

"Olivia, are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky and deep.

She stood and held her hand out to him. "Take me home."

He glanced at the door to the small bedroom. It was raining. It was growing dark. And he didn't want to wait that long.

"I have a room here," he said, and waited until she nodded her assent before laying the cello on the piano and leading her inside. He did not bother with the lantern, and closed the door to the studio, blocking out all of the light. In the darkness, he found the confidence to find her shoulders, and kiss her until it felt as if they both had no air left to give. She was willing and warm against him, encouraging with her small hands delving into his coat and running along his ribs. They did not speak – they let their bodies guide them with buttons coming free and laces stripped loose.

Erik only stopped her when her hands came up to his face. He gripped her wrists, and set them at his chest, holding them there until he was sure that she understood. She said nothing, just pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest, and found another button to free. He might have prevented her from touching the mask, but she found the other scars along his back and sides, and she explored them gently with her hands, tracing the ragged lines that ran all over his body. The sound of their breathing filled the room, the sound of two people completely lost and finding painfully sweet comfort. Olivia stepped out of her dress as it slid to the floor, and right back into his arms, helping him remove the chemise and her underclothes.

Erik navigated her towards the bed, slowly falling with her across the mattress. He ached to explore her further, but his body wouldn't obey the command of his heart. For several moments he held himself suspended above her, until his eyes at last adjusted to the darkness, and he could see her face.

"It's alright," Olivia whispered. "I'm not going to stop you now."

"What do...I..." He jerked suddenly as her hands found his waist, and pulled him down. He groaned as her hands went to his belt, pulling it free. "Olivia," he breathed. "Just show me what you want me to do."

"I think you know," she replied, unfastening his pants. "Or perhaps you've forgotten how?" She teased, then laughed softly. "Perhaps I have as well."

He shoved his boots off quickly, then came quickly out of the rest of his clothes. It shocked his skin when he slid against her, all soft and warm. Womanly. He didn't believe for a moment that she had forgotten a thing, but he was half afraid to touch her. He found her hand with his.

"Show me," he insisted softly.

And she did. Her hands guided him to all of the places he'd wanted to touch. They guided his lips to her breasts, and she arched against him, asking him to never stop. She was open beneath his hand, ready for him, and he played her as effectively as he he'd done the cello. Surely and steadily. Strongly and powerfully. They both froze, trying to breathe air that was preciously rare.

"Erik."

He closed his eyes at the sound of his name on her lips. "Yes?"

She didn't answer, just cried out in pleasure as he began to move within. Slowly. So slowly, and gently. Despite his apprehension, her arms went around his neck, and she pressed her face into his shoulder, urging him with her legs wrapped tightly around him. Olivia gave, and he took from her everything, wanting and demanding more of her until she was quivering against him with completion. She rocked up into him, provocative and avaricious, encouraging him with the sound of their lovemaking and her hitched breaths against his ear. Erik grasped her shoulders and found his own sexual release, locking his eyes with hers in the dim room. He held himself within her until there was nothing left, and held himself a little longer, simply because he couldn't bear to leave her soft warmth.

Erik wondered about the curious ache in his throat as he lay beside her. She turned into him, laying her head against his shoulder.

It felt an awful lot like he needed to weep.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I'd like to take a moment to plug a very interesting story that my beta is beginning to post under her name. It was one I started right after Leitmotif that I just never found the heart to continue so Rappleyea decided to go on with it. She's done an excellent job! It's called Russian Lerouxlette, it's a modern fic about Erik & Christine. I know that most of these stories don't work, but this one does and I hope you will give it a chance and let her know what you think of it.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

It was easier to pretend to be asleep, and simply lay against Erik's chest, listening to his heart beating. He was tracing her arm with one finger, his touch so gentle that it almost tickled, but she just kept her eyes closed and didn't move. Olivia still felt waves of her climax, that pulsing sensation of pleasure that he'd wrought in her. Pleasure given by her husband – by Erik.

She had not expected him to be so tender. She had not expected to feel so vulnerable and yet powerful beneath him. Vulnerable because she had not ever been so forward with Charles, and she'd been afraid that she was committing some offense by coming to him. Powerful, because it had felt so wonderful to do just that. He had given her permission to show him what she wanted, and for once in a very long time, she had been in control of _something._

But for now she just wanted to be held, and to lie close to him without speaking. He was a passionate man, her husband. Still, she could sense that he had held back. He had not felt quite comfortable with her touch, even if he had enjoyed it. And the mask. What was she ever going to do about it? It was an albatross, weighing down each conversation, each touch, each kiss. She was afraid to even mention it, let alone touch it. She wondered even now, with the heat of their lovemaking still lingering in the air, if he might be more comfortable without it.

She would not speak to him about the mask. It made her uneasy to think about it. She only hoped that time would show him that what he looked like underneath did not matter to her. She lost track of how long they stayed like that, just simply holding one another, breathing in his scent and enjoying the way she fit against him so perfectly. Her eyes opened as he began to stir, but closed when she realized he was leaving. She smiled to herself as he drew the covers across her back, and she just knew that everything would be fine. Charles had never done something so considerate of her comfort. Olivia listened as Erik dressed in the dark, then left the room. She squirmed down into his blankets and buried her face in the soft pillow, drawing the other one beside her and wrapping her arms and legs around it.

Olivia finally sat up in frustration after what must have been an hour, unable to sleep. Grasping in the dark, she found her chemise and drawers and slipped them on. She could not find her dress, but found his coat. She put it on then opened the door to see Erik sanding a piece of wood at the table, bending over to blow the sawdust away. She watched him work, watched his hands as they moved, the way he took such care to make sure every inch was perfect and smooth. Completely absorbed in his work, he did not seem nearly so severe, nor concerned with convention. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose. He wore his boots, no doubt to keep the splinters out of his feet, but they were tucked haphazardly around his pants. She found herself smiling.

And so very glad she had come. When he had not returned home after the wedding, she had grown anxious, but Gregory had assured her that Erik would be fine. His studio had a small apartment, and Madame Sutlier had never let him go hungry, even if he did not return to the main house for days. She had felt a little like a sacrificial virgin when she had asked Gregory to bring her, but it had been worth every moment she spent in his arms.

She wanted very much to be in them again.

"Erik?"

He jerked around, and she saw him run the sander across his thumb. She winced as he began to swear, then pressed her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Did I wake you?" he asked, his teeth gritted tightly.

He strode over to a cabinet and opened a door, finding a towel. Olivia scurried across the floor to him.

"What are you doing? This floor has splinters all over it."

"Let me see," she replied, ignoring his concern. She reached for his hand, which was bright with his blood. "Is it deep?"

"No." She noticed him take in her state of dress – or rather, undress. His eyes did not return to her face for a very long time. "This floor is covered with splinters."

"So you keep saying," she murmured, wrapping the towel around his hand and thumb. "You should be more careful."

She glanced up to see his mouth quirk. She wanted to see him smile, but he remained expressionless.

"Would you like me to return you to the house?"

Olivia's gaze slid down his open shirt. No, that was not what she wanted. But perhaps it would be better for them both if they took things slowly. Once per week. That was what she had decided before coming. It would give them time to anticipate one another. To want to grow closer. And she wouldn't give more of herself than she needed to, if she had time to be alone.

"Has it stopped raining?" she asked.

"It has lightened considerably," Erik replied. "I keep Trouble stabled here. Can you ride?"

"I know all the basic functions. Whoa. Go left, go right. Go forward," she laughed softly. "I have never fallen off, much to my surprise."

"He is gentle," he assured her. "I will have him ready in a few moments. There is still about twenty minutes left of daylight." He started to turn, but glanced at her feet again. "I would hate for you to..."

Olivia grinned. "I know you secretly want to carry me off to safety. How many times will this make?"

His smile was answer enough. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders as he lifted her, and she became very aware of how little she had on. She tried to hold his coat closed, but it was a morning coat, and did very little other than cover her bosom and stomach. The dark, windowless bedroom was welcome as he set her down safely on the clean swept floor.

"My coat, Madame," he requested. "May I have it?"

She handed it to him, crossing her arms before her chest. "Is there a lamp in here? I must find my...my things."

He lit it for her, and left her alone to finish dressing. Olivia took in the room, built entirely from cedar planks. The vaulted ceiling gave it a feeling of being larger than it was, though it had room for a small writing desk and a bathing chamber. The bed was aged iron, probably over a hundred years old, but the ironwork on it was done in beautiful spiral patterns with fleur de lis emblems at the top. She found her dress on the opposite side of the bed, and smiled, wondering how it had ended up there. She froze as she picked it up and her eyes caught a small portrait on the night stand.

His wife.

Or rather, his _first_ wife.

This was a different, more intimate portrait. One drawn by someone who had known her. She was sitting with her bare back towards the artist, gazing behind her as if she knew she was being watched and did not mind. She had a blanket was gathered around her, but it covered only the strategic places. Olivia jerked her gaze away and finished dressing.

She was trying to pin her hair up in the small mirror above the basin when Erik returned.

"You should leave it down."

Olivia pulled another pin out of her mouth. "I'm afraid most everyone else would not feel the same. It looks frightful if I don't tame it everyday."

He seemed discontent by her answer, and stepped up behind her. With one hand he tugged a pin out, and ran his fingers through her hair. She watched his expression in the mirror – saw how he just simply stared at her, moving closer to breathe in. His warmth invited her to turn her face towards his. She closed her eyes, and waited, expecting him to begin unbuttoning her dress, but he stepped away from her suddenly.

"You should go before it starts raining again."

"Of course," Olivia replied, surprised.

She followed him outside to a small stable with only two stalls inside. It was almost dark now, but there was still enough light to ride home with no difficulty. Erik lifted her easily into the saddle, and she blushed. She had never ridden astride before, and it forced her skirt nearly up to her knees.

"I will see you soon," he said quietly, neatly dismissing her. "Goodnight Olivia."

She nodded, and turned the horse towards the house, slightly bewildered. Did he ever return home? She had asked Madame Sutlier, and the woman admitted that she really did not keep track of her employer, and that he'd kept odd hours since his accident. Olivia had found out more from Gregory about her husband than anyone – including her husband! She learned that his mother had moved to Sarlat because she'd been unable to stand his terrible temper after the fire. And that he'd gone to visit her occasionally, until one of her maid's small children had screamed and run away in fright when she saw his mask. He had even tried to have a social life, however briefly, by attending a play. Something terribly embarrassing had happened, and he had not gone again. Olivia's heart broke for him. But his isolation now was his own doing. Didn't he understand that she had agreed to be his companion? A friend? Surely he had not married her for sex alone.

Even if it had been particularly fantastic, Olivia knew that it would take more than that to hold their marriage together. Her relationship with Charles had been wild and exciting. Then he'd taken every ounce of love she had for him, and twisted it like a knife right into her heart.

Olivia patted Trouble's neck, silently thanking the horse for helping her meet Erik before she had known that he was going to be their target. It had changed so much for her. It had changed everything.

She spotted something through the trees. Something large and black. It looked almost like a wall, but it was too obscure to make out. Impulsively she guided Trouble off the path and through the forest. The leaves were wet and his hooves barely made a sound on the soft rain soaked earth. She had not gone very far when she realized she was looking at the burned shell of a house.

Not just any house. This would have been the home Erik had shared with his wife and son. The roof was completely gone now, exposing the bones to the open sky. Only the stone walls remained, a few of them half collapsed. The sight of a child's swing, the wooden seat rotted by the weather and dangling from the end of a frayed rope, almost made her stop and turn around. But she couldn't. She steered the horse around to the side of the house, staring at what his life had been. Through the vacant windows she could still see the half burned furniture. Singed blue walls and the broken but not forgotten past. Sadness was present everywhere. It must have haunted him too much to return here.

Near the back steps, she pulled harder on the reins than she intended, and Trouble reared slightly in protest. A man was sitting there, and he stood abruptly when he saw her. At first glance she thought it might have been Erik, but his face was handsome and perfect in every way. He was much younger than her husband.

Who was he? And what on earth was he doing out here?

"I beg your pardon, my lady," he called out, "I did not mean to startle you."

Olivia pulled Trouble back several feet. "I believe you are trespassing, Sir," she said nervously.

"Indeed, I am. My apologies." The man stared at the horse for a moment. "Is he yours?"

"He belongs to my husband," she replied stiffly. "I am Madame de Villiers."

The man regarded her silently for awhile, and her discomfort increased. She took her eyes away from his, and took in the back of the house. A small sun room with blackened curved glass ran all along one side, with dead vines overtaking it. A few wild roses had begun to climb over the unsecured doorway.

Her eyes moved back to the stranger. If he was a vagrant, he was certainly well dressed for it. His dark blue coat fit snugly over a masculine frame. His sandy hair was longer than conventional, and tied back, enhancing his strong, striking face. His eyes were the color of a lightning storm.

No, he certainly did not belong here.

"I had not realized that Monsieur de Villiers had taken a bride. When were your nuptials?" the man finally asked, his expression guarded.

Olivia ignored the question. "Do you know my husband?"

"I....," he paused, glancing back towards the house. "I live nearby."

"Well. I am almost certain he does not want anyone coming here. You still have not given me a name."

"I am sorry, Madame. I would appreciate your discretion," he said, taking a step towards her.

Alarm filled her, and she turned the horse quickly, trotting out of the yard. She was prepared to send the horse flying if need be, but a quick glance told her he was not following. He had wanted her to keep silent about his visit. Why?

Olivia did not stop Trouble when he began a soft, rhythmic canter back to the stable. She said nothing at first as Gregory greeted them with a polite smile, and began to chat about nothing in particular. A moment of awkward silence came between them, and her curiosity could hold out no more.

"You met a _man_ in the forest?" he repeated.

Olivia wrung her hands. "Not precisely the forest," she admitted. "I went off the path. I found....I found the house that burned down."

Gregory's lips pursed together tightly. "He was tall? Blonde hair?"

"Yes. He did not give me his name. I told him he ought to leave. I hope I did not overstep my bounds."

Gregory led Trouble to his stall, raking a hand through his hair. "Erik has told you about the fire?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

"That man....it would be better if Erik did not know that he was here. That is the man who tried to break up his first marriage. Erik blames him for everything."

Olivia felt her face go pale. "That was the Vicomte?"

"Yes." Gregory glanced at her. "You'd best let me tell him. Erik dislikes secrets, but I don't think you ought to be the one to tell him. The Vicomte knows better than to set foot on this property. Erik has_ dealt_ with him more than once."

"Should I say anything to him?" Olivia's mind raced, both from this, and her other, much larger secret. "I shouldn't have gone to that house."

Gregory hesitated. "Erik does not go there anymore. He did at first. I think it became difficult for him to see everything left like that, but he can't bring himself to tear it down. I truly don't know if it would bother him. I can tell you almost everything else about him, but he does not like to talk about that place, or his family."

"Thank you, Gregory," Olivia said quietly. She stroked Trouble's neck, her brow knit in puzzlement. "Why would the Vicomte come here? After what he did to Erik's family, how can he be so cruel?"

"All that I know, is that he too suffered some injury. He _claims_ he does not remember that night." Gregory's gaze grew vacant. "He claims, that he doesn't remember anything. Not even his own name."

Olivia scoffed. "That's absurd. Why, I've never heard of such!"

Gregory shrugged. "It's apparently a studied condition among doctors. Both de Chagny and Erik went to Paris after the fire for treatment. The Vicomte was moved to a special doctor in Italy after a few months. He'd been unconscious for three days. Erik was kept that way deliberately because of his injuries. They sent him home and told his mother there was nothing more they could do."

"How awful." Olivia placed her forehead against Trouble's nose. "It's certainly unfair. His family was killed. His wounds. Everything. And the Vicomte appears perfectly healthy other than a lost memory? How convenient of him to forget how much pain he has caused!"

Gregory nodded. "Erik's mother told me most of this. He doesn't divulge much information."

"What about Erik's sister?" she asked suddenly. "She has no concern for her brother?"

"That's just it," Gregory replied, looking her in the eyes. "Emma is married to the Vicomte de Chagny. She and Erik haven't spoken in over three years."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was no wonder Erik did not trust anyone. He had been soundly rejected and subsequently abandoned by the most important women in his life. First Christine, even before his injuries, by her dalliance with the Vicomte. Then his mother. And lastly his sister, again with the Vicomte. A surprising amount of anger had been built, directed at his surviving family. How could they leave someone who needed them so much? Olivia found herself unable to sleep most of the night, thinking about him and all that she had learned. Wondering what she ought to do. She worried that there might come a day when one of the Joliots returned and lay the truth before him like an ugly cancer. Would she then, too, be forced to leave him – if only to protect herself?

His wounds ran so much deeper than his scars. They would not heal with a thousand caresses or even one heartfelt conversation and declaration of love. This was something that might take years to overcome – if it were even possible.

More and more she found that she wanted to give him whatever it was that he needed. That concerned her too. Had she not already given herself up time and again? Would she continue to allow someone else to determine her future, with no will of her own? She did not even know if Erik wanted anything more from her, but she knew that she could not be happy if he only came to her bed and never shared anything more than that. Perhaps not his heart. But perhaps she was not ready to let go of hers either.

Could there be affection, loyalty, and desire, without love? Or did those three words comprise the very definition of it? She was very sure that the answer was no, even though she did feel all of those things for her husband. And she was very sure that her husband might never return any feelings towards her. He was far too damaged. But was he beyond repair? For the first time, she began to doubt that the marriage would be anything more than an agreement between them. Her elation at having freedom had overcome her worries thus far, but in the silence and solitude the past week, they had begun to sprout.

After dawn broke, she pulled herself from bed and dressed quickly in the chilly morning air. As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could hear the sound of violent arguing coming from inside the library. Gregory was sitting in a chair outside of it, twirling a pocket watch around by the chain with a strained expression.

"Is something wrong?" she asked quietly, though it was hardly necessary. The volume of the voices was deafening. "Is that Erik in there?"

Gregory nodded. "His sister is here."

Olivia stared at the door. The same sister he had not spoken to in three years. "Why?"

"I suppose her husband told her of the marriage," Gregory answered, not taking his eyes of the watch.

"And this made her angry?"

"They fought like this the last time she was here. Erik was not pleased to see her this morning. They've been fighting for nearly an hour."

She could not make out half of what they were saying. Why would his sister be angry that he was married? And how was it any of her business, Olivia wondered.

Suddenly the voices moved closer to the door, and she did too, until she could hear them clearly.

"I don't give a damn about your preferences. I want to meet her," the woman said.

"No. She is my wife, and I will tell her who she can and cannot see!"

Olivia drew back at that. Was he serious? The woman laughed. "The same way you did with Chris?"

"How dare you fling that in my face? You are as guilty as she, giggling like some child every time he walked into a room or his name was mentioned. She never would have met with him if it hadn't been for you." Erik paused for a moment, his voice lowering and tone filled with spite. "And he never would have looked at you twice if she wasn't gone."

"You are a complete bastard!" Emma shouted.

The doors were yanked open with such force that they cracked against the walls to either side. Olivia stumbled away from them in fright. She met the angry, dark green gaze of Emma de Chagny. They all stared at one another for several moments, she at Erik, then at Emma. They both stared at her, and the fury in their eyes burned.

"Hello," Olivia said woodenly. "I'm sorry. I was just coming downstairs when I heard...and..."

"So it is true," Emma stated, turning to look at her brother. "You _are_ beating her."

It took Olivia a moment to realize what she meant, and her hand moved to her forehead. There was still a knot there, and the bruise had changed to a bright green and purple.

"He most certainly is not," Olivia denied furiously. "You are speaking of this, of course?" She glanced at Erik. If anything his scowl had deepened. "Your brother has been nothing but gentle and kind to me. I was in an accident, _ma'am_."

"You do not have to lie to me. I know what a_ beast _my brother can be."

Olivia's anger fanned even further. She could not recall the last time she had been so livid. She brushed past Emma and went to Erik's side, and placed a protective hand on his arm. His look of surprise was enough to make her weep. Had he thought she would side with such a vindictive troublemaker? She turned back towards Emma. "Forgive me, Madame de Chagny," she began, affecting her most haughty tone, "but I do not appreciate being called a liar. I appreciate even less your interruption in our lives. We've been married a little over a week, and quite frankly, I would feel it more appropriate if you called at a later time."

The woman's eyes nearly bulged out.

"Go home, Emma," Erik said quietly. "Go back and tell your husband that if he comes here again, he will find himself in very dangerous company, indeed."

Emma's face crumpled suddenly. "What happened was not his fault, anymore than it was yours. Why can't you see that? He just wants to _remember_."

"And I pray everyday that I can forget," Erik said, his voice deceptively soft. "Christine wasn't the only one who died that day, you know. Or have you forgotten about your nephew? Damn you Emma, get out of my house, or I swear that I will throw you."

Olivia reached out to him, but he raised his hand to stay her, and it was as effective as a fortress going up. She watched helplessly as he stormed out, slamming the front door so hard that it must have rattled every single pane in the house.

"I hope that you are pleased with yourself," Olivia said tightly. "Do you have any idea how much you just hurt him? Do you care?"

To Olivia's surprise, Emma's face crumbled and she began to cry. Olivia pulled a tissue from her sleeve impatiently. She was too angry to care about this woman's tears right now. She wanted to go after her husband and comfort him. She also knew that she would probably provide no comfort at all. What could she possibly say to him that would make him feel better?

"Of course I care," Emma whispered, sinking down into a chair. "He is my brother."

"Then why did you marry a man he hated so much?" Olivia demanded. "A man who caused such a tragedy?"

"You know nothing!" she exclaimed. "Absolutely nothing. My husband is a good man. He doesn't deserve to be reviled in this manner."

Olivia sighed and sat down across from her. Drama before breakfast. It was not going to be a cheerful day, from the look of things.

"Raoul and Christine were in love," Emma said, her voice quaking. "Erik is the one who tore them apart. Christine was waiting for Raoul. She promised him she would be waiting when he returned from the navy. It is not Raoul's fault that she did not keep her promise."

"And it is not Erik's either," Olivia retorted.

"That is precisely my point! Raoul was heartbroken when she wrote to him that she was marrying Erik. He sent her letters, begging her to reconsider. By the time she got them, it was too late. He was away for years, then his commission ran out. It was fate that he met her again. They belonged together. She never betrayed Erik. Never. But Erik wouldn't believe her, and when he lashed out at her, it was too much. The fire wasn't Raoul's fault either. He and Erik were tearing each other apart. Christine tried to stop them – she couldn't."

"You were there?"

Emma shook her head. "I was here. I heard screaming. Mother and I ran to their house, and it was too late. Erik was trying to get back inside. God, I don't know how he was able to even stand. How he was even _alive_. Someone brought Raoul out. And then the house fell in on itself. Christine and Tylin were the only ones inside." She bowed her head and struggled for control, and Olivia felt a tug of sympathy. Still, she could not, and would not, give her loyalty to anyone other than her husband.

"Your husband....," Olivia said cautiously. "He truly does not remember anything?"

"He remembers Christine's face," Emma whispered. "He remembers a fire. Aside from a few childhood memories, he is a blank slate. His head wound took two months to heal. He wasn't burned like Erik. He had fallen in the hallway instead of the room where the fire started. He has terrible nightmares, but he can never remember anything when he wakes up. I just wish that Erik would forgive him. They have both suffered so much."

"Madame, I think that you made a choice. It was yours to make. But I don't believe that you can have both of them in your life," Olivia said, her voice gentle. "Not unless you want this violence to repeat itself. After all that your brother has been through, I think you should hope that he can forgive _you_."

* * *

His mood soured for the day, Erik went to the stables. There was nothing he wanted so much more than to pummel something. To use his fists and beat something into submission. He had never lifted his hands in anger towards a woman, but he had dearly wanted to strangle his sister. Gregory had awoken him from a particularly restful sleep to inform him this morning that he had a visitor, and he had not been pleased to find out who. Emma had always been an annoying early riser. Then on the way to face his sister, Gregory had meekly informed him that Raoul de Chagny had been on his property the previous night, and that Olivia had encountered him. By the time he made it to the house, he had been ready to rip something apart. His sister had greeted him with a sweet, effusive smile, and the world around him exploded.

The anger now was something much more personal than years of pent up emotion. Emma had all but told Olivia that she had married a monster. It felt as if he were sliding off a cliff alone, and he knew that there was nothing that could save him. He had touched her. Made love to her. He had been inside of her. The thought of never feeling her around him again was unbearable. He did not want to return to a life of solitude. Now he very much regretted pushing her away – sending her home. But she had said only once per week, and he had agreed to her request. Saturday seemed an eternity away.

Frustrated, Erik grabbed a brush and went through each stall, grooming each horse, some of them in protest at his brusque manner. He had done three before it felt as if his heart rate returned to normal, and by that time, he was covered in horse hair and dirt. Continuing on towards the older mare's stall, he realized at some point that Gregory was standing and watching him.

"If you keep this up, you aren't going to need my services any longer," Gregory drawled. "She's gone now. You can rest easy."

Erik spared him a venomous glance. "Why didn't you tell me that he was here?"

"I have better things to do than deliver messages for you," he shot back. "Besides, I thought that it could wait until morning. He was already gone. There was no sense-"

"I have every right to know who is here," Erik interrupted. "Especially _him_. Don't forget who you work for."

Gregory snapped his teeth together, then walked forward. "If you were smart, you would put the past behind you and embrace that woman inside the house," he said, pointing. "She is alive, Erik. She is a compassionate, sensitive woman, and she is someone who could grow to love you, if you would let her."

"She will not love me," Erik snorted. "What woman could?"

"The only thing standing in her way is you, my friend. A man with no love in his heart has nothing."

"And what do you know about love?" Erik demanded, throwing the curry aside and coming out of the stall, anger pumping in his veins again. "You're a damned boy. You know nothing about love. About marriage. I had a wife that I loved. Love is nothing but a nuisance. I don't need it again. I don't want it."

Gregory stared at him. "How fair is that to Olivia?"

"She had her reasons for marrying me as well," he snapped. "I have wealth. I can provide her with safety and freedom from her bothersome relatives. She does not need to be loved by me. There is nothing wrong with her."

"Everyone needs to be loved, Erik. Even Olivia," Gregory said quietly, meeting his gaze. "Even you."

Erik shook his head, turning away. He did not want to hear this. He did not want to be offered hope. He had absolutely nothing to offer Olivia aside from material things. He could buy her half of France and it would not make her happy. In five years, his wealth had never bought him one moment of it, and he was not foolish enough to think it might do just that for her. Contentment. That was all he could hope for. To be content, and for her to feel some semblance of acceptance for him. He had promised her freedom, and he meant it. She would give up that freedom for a few moments of his selfish pleasure.

He closed his eyes, and relived that pleasure in his mind. She had not hated it. No doubt it had been so long since she had been touched that she had been only too willing for him. Perhaps she might not be in the future, but she had given him something precious. She had lain with him. Participated. More than that – she had been in control. He did not go where she did not lead. And he had followed her to the ends of the earth last night.

"She defended you," his steward said coolly. "She is in your corner. For now. If you want to keep her there, I suggest you start doing something to prove you are worth it."

* * *

Erik found her in the library that evening. She looked absolutely picturesque, with her hair unbound and trailing down one shoulder, a book in her lap, forgotten as she stared into the fireplace. She started when he picked up a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass.

"Erik," she greeted in surprise, sitting straighter in her chair. She didn't seem to know what to say, just watched silently as he took a drink. "Have you eaten yet? I believe there is..."

She trailed off when he began to shake his head. The thought of eating right now made him ill. He refilled his glass and made his way to the chair opposite hers. For several moments he said nothing, his gaze trained on the amber liquid that was burning its way down his throat.

"I am sorry that you witnessed that this morning," he began. "I should not have been so harsh with her. I could not seem to help it."

Olivia set her book aside, and he met her gaze. He wondered how, just looking into her soft blue eyes, he could feel tension both build and leave his body at the same time. Or perhaps that was merely the scotch, he mused.

"You have every right to be angry with her," Olivia murmured. "I was concerned about you. I went to your studio this afternoon to see if you were alright."

And he had not been there. He had gone to the house, determined to decide if he should tear it down or leave it alone . It was going to all fall in one day in any case. And it would prevent de Chagny from coming back for whatever answers he was looking for.

Still. Every time he thought of removing even one stone, it was enough to make him break again.

"You needn't worry for me." He stared at the flames. At the floor. Anywhere but at his wife. "Emma and I have never quite gotten along. We were at least civil until....until de Chagny came along."

Olivia set her book aside and leaned towards him. Her chair was too far away to touch him, but she waited until he met her gaze before she spoke.

"We are all human – all of us," she said softly. Softer still, she said, "We all make terrible mistakes."

Erik's eyes began to narrow. "You are suggesting that he should be forgiven."

"I am saying that when you strip a man of everything that he possesses – social graces, titles, wealth – when you remove everything, and there is just a man, he only has to answer to himself. He must wake every morning and know that no matter what he does, the past will not change. That he may never find happiness and peace, until he is wholly satisfied with who he is." Olivia paused. "I think that no matter how much you despise him, if he truly is the man your sister claims, it cannot be half so much torment as how he views himself."

Her words went right through him. Was she speaking of de Chagny? Or himself?

"My sister has been more than half in love with him most of her life," Erik finally said, dismissively.

"May I tell you about my husband?" she asked suddenly.

Surprised again, he merely nodded.

"I loved Charles because he was clever and exciting. Because if he saw something he wanted, he would stop at nothing to get it. He was infectious with enthusiasm and life."

Erik felt his heart slide into his boots.

"And he was a criminal," she added, so quietly that he barely heard her.

He leaned forward, certain he had heard her incorrectly. "A criminal?" he repeated.

She became rather preoccupied with a bit of fuzz on her skirt.

"A confidence man. He would steal anything that was not tied down. And sometimes, because he was so very captivating, sometimes people would just _give_ him things. I was so foolish when I married him, that I did not see him for what he was," she whispered. "My father tried to warn me. I don't know how he knew – he just did. But I would not listen. For whatever reason, Charles decided to marry me. In hindsight, I truly don't believe he was capable of genuine love. At the time though, my affections were easily won with gifts and flowery compliments. There was not a happier girl in all of Saint Cernin."

Saint Cernin. Only a few days ride to the northeast.

"Your first marriage was not happy then?" Erik asked, slightly dismayed. If her first marriage had not been good, then it might not be so terrible if her second one was not ideal either. She was a very sweet woman – very young, but no longer a girl. He could see that she was hardened beneath that often smiling facade.

"I left with Charles after only knowing him two weeks. I tried to leave him once." Olivia shifted in her chair. "I only lasted two days in Paris before I went back to him. It was too late for me to go home. My father had already told me not to come back."

"You did not deserve that. I am sorry to hear that he took advantage of your innocence."

"I have not told you the worst of it. I did not mean to tell you anything at all."

"Then why have you?"

"Despite everything, I forgave my husband. I was devastated when he died. I was angry with him. But I forgave him, because it was hurting me so very much to hold in all of that hate. I know that you do not want to forgive de Chagny." She moved out of her chair and sat down at his feet. Her hands rested on his knees. "I know the sting of betrayal. And I know that you can hate him for the rest of your life, and it won't make you any happier. It won't bring back your loved ones. It won't take away the pain."

"No," he agreed, his throat tight.

She took his hand, her expression as unguarded as any he had ever seen. "I hope that one day you can wake up and find peace."

It had been an emotionally trying day, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget. He had spoken more words in a single day than he had in the past year, and though he had longed for an end to his solitude, right now solitude sounded very appealing.

Erik stood, helping Olivia to her feet. Her face was flushed as she held his gaze.

"I hope I did not offend you," she said gently. "I know that I tend to talk a great deal."

"You are very tender hearted. And it is good to see that you can be after everything that you have been through."

"I must place a request with you." She stepped away from him, looking suddenly nervous. "I realize I should have done so prior to your agreeing to marry me, but I am afraid I am in need of money. My husband left me with a great deal of debt."

Ah. The reason at last, why she had stayed with the Joliots.

"I wondered if you might grant me an allowance?" She looked ashamed to even ask, and it twisted his heart to see her beg for anything.

"No," he replied automatically.

"Of course," she whispered, obviously mortified. She began to turn away, and he gripped her shoulders before she could go.

"What I mean to say, is that we are married, and there is no need for you to be allotted money per month. You are not a child," he explained quickly. He tightened his hands. "I hope you will allow Gregory and me to handle any associate that your husband might have known. I want to protect you."

"I appreciate that very much, but you've already done enough-"

"I insist."

She bobbed her head obediently, but he could see that she wanted to argue with him. Erik let her go after he realized how tightly he was holding her.

"I will speak to Gregory about this tomorrow. You should get some rest. It has been a long day," he said lightly. "Good night Olivia."

"Good night," she whispered.

He poured himself another drink and sat down after she had left. Half a bottle was gone and the fire had died down before he stumbled up the stairs and into his own room. It was the first dreamless sleep he had in weeks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Erik did not avoid Olivia nearly as much the next day, nor any that followed. Instead he would find her in the library or the garden in the evenings, sitting near the fountain in front of the house. Out near the stables, watching as Gregory turned the horses out for the evening. She loved to watch as they chased one another, reveling in their freedom. He always seemed to know where she would be, and she came to look forward to his unexpected visits. It became very apparent that his presence was quite deliberate, and not at all coincidence. The only time that he had summoned her explicitly had been to talk to her about Charles's debt. Yes, it was a great sum of money, he agreed. But it would not do to have his wife worry about such matters. She was a wealthy woman now, and there was simply no need. Still, Olivia had not wanted to provide Monsieur Leverette's name as the creditor, but Erik seemed to find it odd when she resisted, so she had given in.

He had given no indication that he ever heard the name before. With a solicitor in both Paris and Sarlat, Gregory left immediately to handle the issue, taking Madame Sutlier with him for supplies. It was then that they both realized that they would be alone for nearly a week, and had neither a cook, nor anyone to clean out the stables. Erik had apologized, stating that he preferred to keep limited staff because he had limited needs, and that he would make amends. Olivia offered to clean out the stables, and Erik declined, not certain if she was teasing. She simply laughed when he asked her if she knew how to cook.

"I am an innkeeper's daughter, of course I do!" Olivia had exclaimed.

There was something very satisfying in cooking a meal for him. It was, after all, the first one they ever shared. Obviously Erik had felt the need to forgo his solitude, if only not to hurt her feelings. He had not eaten much, and she had not either. Sharing a meal, across from one another for such a long period of time, had grown decidedly intimate. He stayed in the house with her at night, though not in the same room, when she mentioned that the idea of being there alone made her nervous. Sometimes he would sit with her in the library, saying nothing as she read. Very often she would peek at him at just the moment when he did the same, until they both realized what they were doing. She would laugh. His face would flush, but he would offer a wry smile.

Erik remained aloof and polite, but she could sense a change in his demeanor. His eyes followed her constantly, and he always listened carefully to what she said, as if he were mesmerized by the sound of her voice. Then there were those moments that he would actually reach out and touch her, almost as if he were afraid she was a mirage and might disappear if he did not. Those moments were brief and infrequent, but Olivia came to want his gentle touch more and more. He treated her as if she were a most precious thing. For Olivia, one thought resounded in her mind again and again:

Saturday could not come soon enough.

* * *

And for Erik, too, it was a most surreal week. Olivia performed wifely duties for him that not even Christine had done. She made up his bed. She washed and pressed his shirts. He even saw her sweep the kitchen and shake out the rugs. He found himself playing the role of husband that he never had before. He carried water for her bath. Caught a kitchen mouse and delivered it to Ayesha. One day he even took her to a patch of wild blackberries in the forest, and she made him a blackberry cake. He ate two slices. She ate three, then laughed at herself, asking if he would still think her pretty if she grew fat.

He told her that she would always be pretty.

He wanted to tell her so much more, but the words stuck in his throat, and he was afraid to even speak. She was beautiful, yes, but knowing that she was already his pleased him in a most basic and primal way. They were strangers, and yet, that was changing rapidly. He knew that she liked sweets, and that she loved the sunshine and the sound of the water running out of the fountain onto the stone. She loved to read, and sometimes he would see her lips move silently with the words. Her favorite color was red, because it bespoke of passion and romance, something she only had very briefly in her marriage to Charles. He did not wonder at all how she could be so deeply in debt with a husband who was mentored by such a shark. And he was gladdened that he had been able to save her from a life of servitude and petty crime. She was too beautiful to have such worries. Too charming.

And that was exactly how he felt about her. Completely, and utterly charmed. Erik had lived too many dark days, and Olivia had come into his life and changed everything. She had brought light and laughter into a place where for too long there had been none. He was drawn to her, not only because of her beauty, but by her kindness, and yes, by her seeming devotion to him. She had become surprisingly protective of him, even sharing a sharp word or two with Gregory over his usual bantering.

Still, he did not allow himself too many lingering glances, or casual touches. It did not take much to undo him – her smile could do that alone – and he did not want to pressure her into what he knew must still feel like intimate relations with a perfect stranger. She did not seem to regard him that way. Her manner was familiar and affectionate. She even took down her hair in the evenings while they would sit in the library, and though it took several days for him to realize it, she had done it because he asked her to. Each night he closed his eyes, and willed the week to move more swiftly.

Saturday could not come soon enough.

* * *

Gregory and Madame Sutlier had not returned by early Friday afternoon, but Olivia received another visitor while Erik was in the studio preparing wood for future use, whatever that meant. He had of course explained it to her, and after a few moments she had begun to nod politely, but she really had no idea what he was talking about when he mentioned the key processes of violin making. Olivia was dusting a lamp when she heard the front door open and close, and the sound of a child crying. Immediately she went to the entrance to see Emma and another young woman hanging up their coats. In the hallway was a large and ornate pram.

"Olivia, you are home," Emma said, her tone welcoming. "Is Erik here?"

"He is working," she replied politely.

"Oh good. I hoped I might get a chance to speak with you before he begins yelling at me." Emma offered her a tentative smile. "I've brought someone for him to meet. My daughter, Alexi."

Olivia walked over to the pram, and stood next to the beaming young mother. An envious feeling overcame her as she looked down at the crying youngster, a girl with thick dark hair and pale pink skin. And quite a healthy set of lungs.

"She's beginning to teethe," Emma explained, lifting her out of the carriage. "I had hoped she would feel more up to a visit, but she hasn't felt well in several days."

It was too soon, was Olivia's first thought. Far too soon for this. Even if Emma wanted a relationship with her brother, bringing a child over like this felt a little too much like gloating. She took the child when offered, feeling very nervous at those tiny movements in her arms. But Alexi continued to cry, and after several moments, Olivia passed her back to her mother. She had never been around small children before – at least not since leaving home.

"Nanny, get Monsieur Legnon from the stables and have him get my brother."

"Gregory is not here." Emma looked at her in surprise. "He and Madame Sutlier went into town."

"Well," she replied, laying Alexi into the carriage. "Then I shall go fetch him myself."

Olivia opened her mouth in protest, but she could see the happiness in Emma's eyes. She truly thought that having a child would change Erik's mind about Raoul de Chagny? When he had lost his own?

"Perhaps you would feel more comfortable in the kitchen when they returned," Olivia offered the nanny. She could see the relief in the young woman's eyes as she fled - leaving Olivia alone with the screaming, frustrated child.

* * *

Erik reviewed the contract with the school, wondering if he would have enough time in the twelve months remaining to build the additional instruments needed to meet the quota. He had already been behind in production when Olivia had come into his life, and now it was beginning to worry him. He was certainly going to have to step things up a bit if he wanted to finish in time. Gregory had last checked on the school's progress four months ago, and construction had been going well.

Then again, with all of this rain, perhaps they would be set behind now.

He had been working for over a year now creating the instruments, putting special attention on the details. Many of them were child sized violins, a fact that he tried to ignore, even if it did disturb him to build them. They would play better as they aged, and he knew that the school already had many instruments that were donated. He was seriously considering donating the del Gesù. He hated that instrument. The Vicomte's gift to Christine. A violin from a master, to another master's wife, given by a boy with no true talent or appreciation for music. It had been certainly insulting, if not overly symbolic. If Erik remembered correctly, that damned violin was what had begun their terrible argument.

Emma had hidden it for Christine, knowing Erik would ask questions about its origins. After he had recovered, she had all but thrown it at him, and more than anything, he'd wanted to crack it over his knee.

He had gripped the neck so tightly that some of the wood creaked in protest, but instead he had relaxed his grip and placed it carefully in it's case. He brought it out sometimes to examine it.

Not once had he played it.

The school would be a perfect place for such a beautiful instrument. Not a museum. Instruments did not belong in a museum unless they were too fragile to handle. They deserved to be played. To be cherished.

Much like the Stradivarius he owned, and still yet, seldom played.

But that had belonged to his father, and it was not something he was willing to part with.

Erik glanced out the window at movement outside, his mouth tightening when he saw who it was. Damn Emma, she had always been tenacious. Like a bulldog with a rope, until she wore you down and you would do anything for her, if she would simply stop.

She did not bother knocking, and he did not rise when she came through the door like an arrow, straight for him.

"Mother wants to see you," she announced. "When are you going into Sarlat to introduce her to Olivia? She is rather peeved at you right now."

"Hello to you too, Emma."

She raised her chin in her familiar, combative manner. "Mother misses you. She is getting older everyday."

"Most people do."

"Do not get sarcastic with me. I am trying to help you," Emma gritted out.

"What did you not understand about not coming here?" he replied calmly. "I believe that was at the specific request of my wife."

"And you are spending your honeymoon, such as it is, in your studio, while she is at home dusting your furniture? Have you no recollection of how a lady spends her time?"

"I never said that Olivia was genteel. She does those things because she wants to, not because I have told her to do so."

Emma stared at him in disbelief. "What woman wants to clean her own house? That is what Madame Sutlier is for!"

Losing patience quickly, Erik stood. "If you have come to deliver a message from Mother, you have succeeded. I don't understand why you insist on coming here. I have absolutely nothing to say with you about anything at all. As far as I am concerned, you do not exist to me."

Her expression pinched, she looked away. "What a perfectly awful thing to say to me. To your only sister."

"Emma....I do not mean to hurt you." Erik stared down at his desk, still feeling that familiar anger towards her, and something else that he did not want to. She had betrayed him. She had helped Christine betray him. And then again, with Raoul de Chagny. "I cannot forgive you. I will not. It would be best if you would stop coming here altogether. My having a wife now has changed nothing between us. I am sorry if you thought otherwise."

He watched her blink away tears, and felt like a complete arse. But it was her own doing, and he would not allow himself to be drawn into her life, and subsequently, into her husband's.

"Before I leave, there is someone I need you to meet," she whispered, her voice pleading. "I have a daughter. She is only a few months old. And I know how difficult it is for you to accept her – but she is innocent. I want you to have a place in her life. Even if you do not have one in mine."

She had not even stopped speaking when he answered her, sharp tones echoing off of the walls.

* * *

Emma left, distraught, and left with a now sleeping Alexi. Olivia put away her thoughts of quiet joy at holding the infant, and went to look for Erik. She did not bother going to the studio – she guided the old mare that he had given her to ride out into the forest, until she found the path to the old house.

And found him almost precisely where she had found Emma's husband. He watched her approach, his face expressionless, even reached up and helped her dismount, neither of them saying a word. Olivia felt something dig into her back as he set her down, but did not protest. It was a child's carved rocking horse in his hands, all of the yarn burned away, and nothing left of the leather red saddle except for blackened strips of hide. She took it from him, her throat tightening when she saw the name carved on the flank.

Suddenly she wished she had not come.

"He was not even born when I made that," Erik said softly. "I did not know she was having a boy, but I wanted a son. The de Villier's tradition to teach his son to be a luthier. I wanted what my father had with me."

An apology was at her lips, but she did not release it, knowing how inadequate it would be. All could do was listen as he began to open up, to describe the night Tylin was born and how fulfilled he had been. The many falls that had frightened him, and the scrapes he had kissed with great care. The moments of amusing mischief that had both beleaguered his wife and driven him crazy. He did not break. Not as she surely would have done. He was frozen inside. She could see the immovable wall behind his eyes, and he was almost detached as he spoke to her, as if he were describing another person's life. Another man's son.

She could not look away from him, and he could not look away from the toy in her hands.

"Emma had no right," he finally whispered, his knuckles going white, "to force that upon me. How could she think that I would so calmly accept her child? When I....when I...."

His voice began to break, and she placed her arms cautiously at his shoulders, bringing him closer. He did not resist, and she held onto him tighter, wanting that wall to come down, but it never did. He just simply stood there as she held him, her face pressed against his shoulder, and his buried against her neck. He did nothing to encourage it, but she kissed him gently on the lips before she stepped away.

"Do you want children, Olivia?" he asked.

"I have given it some thought. I....I am afraid of them," she admitted.

Erik managed a shaky laugh. "They can certainly be terrifying at times."

She peered up at him. "If you want them, I shall do my best to give them to you. I am afraid I would make a terrible mother."

"You wouldn't." Erik let out a deep breath. "To be honest, I do not know if I want more. To lose him like that....or in any way. I could not take that sort of pain again."

She watched as he moved to sit back down at the fountain, and she took a place beside him.

"Charles would never even consider it. I was not too keen on raising a child in that environment in any case. I did not ever expect to have the opportunity again." She met his eyes, saw that he had finally come back to her from that terrible place. She took his hand.

"What did she look like? Emma's daughter?" he asked.

Olivia smiled. "Like a baby? A fussy, red faced, overly fed cherub?"

"Ah. Her mother's temperament."

"Perhaps you have had your revenge after all," Olivia said, then felt instant relief when he laughed aloud.

"Perhaps I have." He looked at her then, his expression growing serious. "You have a unique gift, do you know that?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, perplexed.

"You always know what to say to change my dreadful moods into ones that are not quite so bad. A touch...," he said, tracing the back of his hand against her cheek, "....or a look. Sometimes you say nothing at all, and everything I feel, all of the anger and pain....it just goes away."

She felt her face grow hot, and not from just his touch. Guilt. Shame. Fear. The things she said to him had always been genuine, but she had also lied to him. Betrayed his trust. More than anything she wanted to tell him the complete truth before it was too late. Before she fell in love with him, or he began to develop those feelings for her.

"I don't like to see anyone hurting," she said honestly. "Especially my husband."

His eyes darkened with passion. "This has been a most perfect week. Emma was concerned that you were cleaning the house. You do know that it is not required, Olivia?"

"I needed to keep my hands busy."

"Are you becoming bored here?" he asked, concern evident in his tone. "Perhaps you would have preferred going into town with Madame Sutlier."

"No," she said quickly. "I like it here. Very much. But I could use company during the day."

"Would you like me to allow Emma to come here more often?"

"I would like to see more of you," she confessed, blushing. "I would like it if you would take me around the estate, since Gregory has forbidden me to ride beyond where he can see. If you do not have the time, I understand."

He thought of all the work he had that needed to be done. He had always kept a vigorous work schedule, even before the accident. In a blinding flash of realization, he wondered if it had ever mattered to Christine that he often spent more time in his studio with her or Tylin, trying to keep up with the demands of the Opera. He had always promised to make time for them, and it had led to quite a few arguments and cold shoulders when he did not. How could he turn her away, when she so willingly wanted his company?

"Anything you need," Erik found himself saying, and vowing that he would keep the promise this time. "There are some ruins behind the main house. There is a folly tower that my grandfather built, overlooking the river. I used to play there when I was a boy."

Olivia smiled. "Your own personal fortress?"

"I was a King. Every King needs a fortress," Erik confirmed gravely.

"And a Queen," Olivia said, then felt absolutely foolish.

Erik stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Shall I escort my Queen home?"

She set her hand in his, and felt her blood begin to sing with the look of want in his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was not Saturday. It did not matter that it was hours away, or that it was she who had decided on the agreement. It was a silly thing anyway, and it had never been meant to be permanent, not unless Erik wanted it to be that way. Olivia had known about halfway through the week that he did not, and she had held out for as long as she possibly could. It had been a long two years since Charles died, and she had always felt unfulfilled by his nocturnal visits. He had never shown her so much tenderness. So much consideration. They made it through dinner with few words and many uncomfortable glances. Erik locked the house up, and she went to her room and changed into her nightgown. It seemed to take forever before he stepped through her open door, a hesitant expression on his face. She had not invited him. She hadn't needed to. He had come because he had known that she wanted him to.

"Olivia." His eyes widened at the sight of her.

"Come in," she whispered. "Come _here_."

And he did, kissing her with restraint, until she pressed herself up against him, and opened her mouth to his. The kiss deepened, a searching and intensely capable thing that soon grew wild. Erik kissed her for an eternity before he ever touched her, this time because he wanted to and not because she showed him where or how. As before, she was nude before he ever removed even one article of clothing, casting away the white lace robe, and grasping blindly at the hook and eye closure down her back. He took a long, slow look at her in the soft glow of the lamp. She blushed, it felt, from head to toe.

"Beautiful," he breathed, one fingertip trailing from her clavicle to just above one breast. He stopped as she stepped towards him, shielding her body from his gaze.

"I have always felt rather plain," Olivia said, gazing up into his eyes. "The way you look at me makes me feel beautiful."

"You are. Every inch of you," Erik murmured. He looked away for a moment, a naked expression on his face. She saw him glance at their reflection in the vanity mirror, then he looked back to her.

She thought he might speak, but instead he kissed her again, slower and gentler. The mood changed, his confidence lost, and he became the tender lover from their wedding night. The lights were extinguished. He let her guide him once more, and the room was silent except for the sounds of passion. He did not leave her alone this time. Olivia turned on her side, pulling his arm around her. She smiled as she felt his lips at her shoulder. They lay in silence, tightly wrapped together.

"Would you like to go into Sarlat?" Erik asked softly after awhile.

Olivia turned her face towards his, but could not see him.

"Are you going?"

Erik kissed her shoulder again. "My Mother wants to meet you."

She chuckled. "I asked if _you_ were going."

"I am."

"My last meeting with my husband's mother did not go very well. Beatrice was not pleased that Charles married me without her approval."

"My mother is nothing like Beatrice. She is much like Emma. Stubborn. Although, you will never know if my mother likes you or not. She is unfailingly polite. Emma will let you know her feelings very quickly."

"How comforting," Olivia murmured.

"And while you are there, I will have Gregory introduce you to the solicitor. You are surely in want of new dresses, things of that nature. Whatever you need," Erik said, "it is yours."

Olivia turned in his arms. The moon was full, providing enough light so that she could see him. "Careful," she whispered, "or you will spoil me."

"Your comfort here is important to me, Olivia."

She reached up to caress his cheek, too late noticing the mask. Erik stiffened, inhaling sharply in surprise.

"No," he said in warning.

"I'm sorry." But she did not lower her hand. She placed her hand just beneath his jaw, and tilted his face up to hers for a brief kiss. She slid closer to him, her legs entangling with his, their bodies aligned perfectly. She kissed him again. "I would never hurt you Erik."

"I believe you," he whispered, almost sounding surprised.

His quiet, trusting voice pierced the cloud of happiness around her. It felt as if a ball of ice had gathered in her throat and had begun a slow slide down her stomach. She blinked, startled at the tears that began to burn the corner of her eyes. She buried her face against his chest, inhaling the rich scent of him, and doing her best not to sob. He trusted her, and she was the last person who deserved it.

"Olivia?"

She felt a moment of panic, and wiped her tears discreetly. "Yes?"

"How did your husband die?" he asked softly.

She lifted her head in confusion. "Pardon?"

"I was wondering this evening," Erik replied, tracing a hand over her face. "You know so much about me, and I hardly know anything about you. I wondered how your husband died. He must have been very young."

"He was. Charles had just turned twenty seven." She took a deep breath. "And he was murdered."

* * *

Murdered. The word hung in the air, as foul as the act itself for several minutes. He set her away from him, gazing down at her.

"He was supposed to meet someone...somewhere. He would not tell me anything," she whispered. "There were so many secrets between us – mostly his – that after being married to him for so long, I didn't bother asking. I'm certain he owed someone money, or he stole from the wrong person. He rarely got caught, but when he did, it was usually very, very bad."

"You do not think that Monsieur Leverette...?"

"No. Charles was the only thief he could depend on. He owed Monsieur Leverette, yes, but I don't believe that he is really capable of physically harming anyone. Especially Charles." She looked away. "His method usually involves blackmail and a great deal of it."

"How did it happen?" Erik asked.

"The gendarmes knocked on my door two days after he had gone missing. They said he was shot in the back several times. He was only a few streets away."

"I am sorry, Olivia." He did not know what else to say. He had lost Christine in a very different manner, but it had been no less painful. And given what he now knew about Charles Joliot, he could not say that he was sorry the man had died. Merely that he had treated his wife so abominably.

"I had nightmares for months, that whoever had shot him would return and....." her voice trailed away, the pitch rising steadily until she could no longer speak.

Erik drew her head against him once more, closing his eyes. "You are safe now."

Olivia wrapped her arms around him, and it felt like nothing so much as pure bliss. Pure, unadulterated, and completely terrifying bliss. Erik stayed until she was asleep, then detached himself carefully, gathered up his clothes, and slipped from the room. In the darkness of his bedchamber he dressed, and went downstairs and out the front door into the quiet night. He slipped the mask from his face and allowed the cool air to touch his skin as something akin to panic began to develop in little bursts inside his head. He had not expected to ever be happy again. While he certainly could not express undying love for her, he could feel himself yearning for it, and those were emotions he had long ago vowed to never hold for another person.

He did not want to place anyone so high as he had Christine, only to have them tear away his very sanity with betrayal. He had told Olivia that he trusted her. Did he? She had proven herself time and again to be a dependable, sensitive woman. Sensitive to his needs, to his frustrated emotions and even the desire he had been too afraid to act on. She had not made him lower himself to begging. He admired her for that, and was eternally grateful. She treated him as her equal, not some deformed freak she pitied and allowed to touch her. It was genuine. He could see in her eyes that she felt the same things. Desire. Affection. Faithfulness.

But trust? Love? Could he ever truly do either after what he had been through?

"Love is an ideal for young fools," he whispered to himself.

Sitting alone in the darkness, he could almost believe it.

* * *

His mother lived in a townhouse in Upper Sarlat, a home with many windows and even more staff constantly scurrying out of his way. Erik hated it. She had only moved there to be away from him, and how well he knew it. Most of their staff had either quit or been fired when he returned from the hospital. He could even admit to himself how terrible he had been. But he would never apologize for it. His eyes had been opened to the world around him, and in it, all women would only do one thing - betray, and betray again. Leave, and never return.

Olivia gripped Erik's hand as they walked through the front door together, as much for her comfort as it was for his. She gave a nervous smile. It was very early morning and he knew his mother would already be awake, but he did not go upstairs immediately. He led Olivia into the salon, and watched as Gregory hefted in their luggage. The ride into Sarlat had been very long and uncomfortable for both of them. They had only stopped once to give the horses a rest. Olivia had slept through most of the night, propped against his shoulder and lulled to sleep by the sway of the carriage. But Erik could not. With each turn of the wheels, his anxiety began to increase. He had not seen his mother in a very long time, and their last visit had been even less pleasant than those with Emma.

"Perhaps it would be best if I went alone at first," he whispered to her. "I do not want you to be uncomfortable."

"If that is your wish, Erik, but it is not necessary." She placed her hand on his chest. "You seem tense. Are you alright?"

An elderly maid came into the room, interrupting his reply. "Your Mother is awake, Monsieur de Villiers. She asks that you bring your bride upstairs when you come."

If Olivia noticed that the woman did not quite look at him, she did not say anything. Instead she took his hand again, and looked in his eyes. Without a word, she could convey to him a sense of peace. A shimmer of laughter danced in her eyes, but what she found amusing, he could not tell. It had been three days since they had made love, and one and a half of them had been in the carriage, where she had slept against him, read, or otherwise pretended to ignore him in the close confines of the carriage. Part of the trip he had spent with his own eyes closed, pretending to sleep, because he had found absolutely nothing to talk about with her. Their conversations thus far seemed to center around his past, and his emotions connected to it. They did not discuss what had happened in the darkness of the bedchamber. They did not discuss the weather. In a sense, they were becoming what he had expected - two strangers, sharing a life.

And yet there were moments like this, when he felt something deeper for her than he truly wanted to. Even here, now, he could see that she was reaching out to him because he needed it.

"Come," he whispered. Taking her hand, he led her upstairs and past what seemed an entire gaggle of servants, young and old, who kept their face averted. No doubt they remembered the last time he had been there, when he had shattered mirrors and screamed in rage at finding out his own mother had given her blessing to his sister marrying de Chagny. He still had not forgiven her. Not his mother, and certainly not Emma.

Erik knocked once, his eyes trained to the grain of wood on the door, until he heard her soft call. He released Olivia's hand as they entered, but she stayed at his side as the approached the bed where his mother was propped up against a mountain of pillows. He was surprised to see how thin she had become, how absolutely gray and old. Unwillingly, concern touched his heart.

"Erik." She raised her hand towards him, until he was sitting at the edge of her bed, and she'd grasped his arm and embraced him. He did not lean into her because she seemed so frail, but she wrapped her slight arms around him and held him there for an immeasurably long amount of time.

"Mother," he whispered, coming free of her embrace.

"It has been too long." She reached up to touch his cheek – the unmasked one. "I have been so worried for you."

He took her hand away, and turned slightly. "This is Olivia," he said, beckoning her closer.

"Madame de Villiers," Olivia greeted shyly.

His mother's brows arched upwards as she took her in. "Come forward, let me see you."

"Yes, Madame." Olivia stepped up to his side, setting a hand on his shoulder.

The small movement did not escape her notice, and Erik saw a faint smile on his mother's face.

"I was surprised to learn that you had married," she said, glancing between the two. "I was overjoyed to hear it."

"It was a rather sudden decision," his wife explained apologetically. "If there had been time, Erik and I would have accommodated you, ma'am."

"Rather sudden?"

Realizing her error, Olivia blushed. "Our decision was not based on that sort of necessity."

Seeing a flash of disappointment cross her face, Erik stood and placed an arm around Olivia's waist. "It does not matter why we married, only that we are. I know that you wanted to meet her, thanks to Emma's very busy tongue, so I have brought her."

"Emma is only concerned for your happiness, Erik," his mother said, her tone affecting a warning. "As am I. There is no need for this continued hostility."

He bowed slightly, the feeling of unease and euphoric adulation fading, being replaced by something more familiar and welcome - anger.

"Olivia and I have been traveling all night. Will you excuse us so that we may rest?"

His mother nodded her assent, and he led Olivia from the room, down the hall and into the guest room that he had only slept in once or twice. There was darkness here, because he had demanded it. Thick dark red draperies blocked out most of the sun, and only once the door was closed did he began to breathe again.

Erik watched as Olivia went to the draperies and pulled one aside, only allowing enough light in so that she could see. Her gaze found the bed, then him, and she gave a nervous smile. "Are we sharing a room then?"

His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. He glanced down at their luggage, his and hers, placed side by side at the foot of the bed. His first instinct was pleasure, but then panic hit him squarely in the chest. How could he even begin to explain why he could not sleep next to her?

"I will see that an additional room is prepared," he said brusquely, finding no suitable explanation – at least none that he wanted to give. He turned away from her, not wanting to know if she were relieved or not. "For now, you might as well lie down for an hour or so. There is a bathing chamber through the door. Just pull the bell, and they will bring you whatever you need."

"I believe just a bath," Olivia replied softly, giving the rope a tug.

She went to her valise and set it on the end of the bed. Erik sat in a nearby chair and removed his boots, watching as she removed a fresh gown and toiletries. A procession of maids and a few footmen were ordered to draw her a bath, and she entered the bathing chamber alone as a maid took her gown downstairs to be pressed. Exhausted beyond measure, he could not even appreciate the fact that she was without clothing, only feet away, and he could hear the sound of splashing water and a delightfully off-key hum. He closed his eyes, listening. And then dreaming.

* * *

Olivia heard the bedroom door open and shut, and assumed that Erik had left the room. She let the water cool over her before she finally decided to move, feeling refreshed and clean at last. The maid had not brought her dress back up, so she wrapped a large towel around herself and one in her hair, knowing it would take forever to dry. The room was dark again as she returned, and only the sound of his deep breathing alerted her to his presence. Her eyes began to adjust, and she could see the slight curve of his white mask. He was sleeping, and this time he was not pretending as he had done in the carriage. She hesitated a moment, knowing he needed to sleep, but suddenly wanting to touch him.

Erik's entire demeanor had changed once they had headed into Sarlat. He no longer shared those long, lingering glances with her that he had during the last week. He had not smiled. His eyes had grown cold and distant, most especially since they had arrived in town. Perhaps he needed time. Or perhaps he would always seek solitude, even from her presence. Olivia curled her fists at her side, torn between a desire to comfort him, and a desire to protect herself. He was not some stray dog that only needed encouraged by a kind word and a gentle hand. She suddenly remembered Beatrice's prediction that if he ever found out, he would do her violence. At times it was hard to reconcile the gentle man she'd grown to know with the same one who had nearly beaten another to death with his fists. And at other times, she did not doubt at all how deep his reserve of anger could be.

She dressed as silently as possible, carrying her shoes with her into the hall before she put them on. The house seemed to have far too many servants for one invalid woman, but Olivia paid them no mind as she went downstairs and into the kitchen to ask one of them to assist with her hair. The chatter inside the kitchen was voluminous, and all of it about her husband.

"Have you ever seen him without it? He looks like a demon. And a temper like one too."

"His wife would have left him....if she had lived, the poor dear."

"I heard that he killed her," one of them was saying.

"That isn't true," another said, waving a knife to prove her point, "I heard that Miss Emma's husband killed her."

"Well whoever did it, I can only imagine why his new wife...."

Silence descended, all at once as they noticed her standing in the doorway.

"What were you going to say?" Olivia asked, her tone perfectly calm. She looked at each of them, feeling unbridled indignation. They were all mute, and none of them would meet her eyes. "I expect that Madame de Villiers would prefer that you not engage in such gossip. Most especially about family matters."

"Yes, Madame," they chorused.

Her eyes lit on Madame Sutlier, tucked into a corner. Her attitude towards her employer had always been recalcitrant, and Olivia realized suddenly just how many areas of Erik's life had been changed. Despite how well she was compensated, even his own employee showed him no respect. No compassion. Nothing, for a man who had suffered such pain, simply because he no longer looked normal.

"That goes for you too, Madame Sutlier," Olivia said, her tone waspish. "Unless you would like to find another job, I demand that you do your duty and serve my husband with loyalty and respect. It gives me no pleasure to berate you in this manner, but your dislike of him has not gone unnoticed. Not by me. And certainly not by him."

She gave one last glare to each of them and returned upstairs to their room, forgetting that he was asleep and shutting the door with more force than she intended. She saw him jerk awake. He was pressing a hand against his chest when she drew the curtain open, then he shielded his eyes, obviously not pleased to be roused in such a manner.

"Jesus, Olivia. Who put a bee in your bonnet?" he grumbled.

His unexpected comment drew an unwilling smile from her. Sometimes, she could very much see the man that he had once been. Not physically of course. But his character. His very endearing sense of humor, that was almost undetectable.

"No one." She saw no need to inform him of what she had overheard. The very thought that he had killed Christine was ridiculous, and she gave it no merit whatsoever. "There must be a draft in here. I am sorry to have awoken you."

"Did a draft paint that scowl on your face as well?" he asked, unconvinced. "What happened?"

Olivia released a breath, and turned to stare out the window for a moment. No secrets. No lies. That was what she had promised herself, from the moment she married him, until she drew her last breath. But she could not tell him what she had heard. "I had a disagreement with Madame Sutlier. It was nothing."

She heard Erik move up behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. "You are angry. Tell me what happened."

"I'd rather not," she whispered, turning to face him. His clothes were rumpled, and his jaw was in need of a shave. It was rather pleasing to see him thus – completely out of keeping with his normal appearance. "I would rather use my lips for something else."

"Olivia...."

He did not protest as she grasped his lapel with one hand and brought him down to her. Her other hand slid beneath his arm and around his waist, bringing their hips together. They kissed, softly, then even softer, their tongues playfully meeting against one another, only to dance away again. He framed her face with both of his hands, tilting her head back and plundering in a sudden desperate way. She opened to him, melted into him, and felt fire build inside her like she had never felt.

Their lovemaking had been passionate and sensual, but he had always been gentle and apprehensive. His caresses always very deliberate. For the first time she had a glimpse of how it could truly be with him – if only that wall of reserve, so carefully constructed, could be torn down. He hid so much of himself, always worrying about where her hands might go, about what she might do. About his mask. He touched it constantly, always discreetly, making sure that it was not askew. She realized how much of himself he kept from her. And how much he denied himself.

Erik broke the kiss as quickly as it had began, stepping away from her suddenly, his breaths coming in great gasps. He did not look at her. "If you truly did not wish to tell me, I would have understood. You do not have to become a wanton simply for the sake of distraction."

Hurt curled up inside of her, so tight it was almost unbearable. "I wanted to kiss you. If that makes me wanton, then so be it."

Erik's lips clamped together, his expression unapologetic. He would never believe that she could desire him. Despite everything she had done to prove to him otherwise. Perhaps he thought she was the greatest actress in the world. There had never been an ounce of conflict between them until now. Somehow she had believed that if she remained on his side, that one day he would see that she truly was. But she would not relay to him vicious kitchen gossip. "If you want to know so badly, you may ask Madame Sutlier. Do not be surprised if she quits in any case."

His jaw clamped in anger he strode from the room, slamming the door even more loudly than she. With a sigh, Olivia sank down into his chair and wrapped her arms around herself. They had agreed to stay for three days. She was coming to dread every one of them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

He had wounded Olivia. She would not look at him the rest of the day, and her responses to his questions became limited to one-word responses that began to slowly irritate him. Erik finally stopped speaking to her altogether and escaped to a study in the back of the house that his mother had never put to use. He ignored the maid who came to inform him that dinner was ready, and left his wife to eat alone. Despite his best attempts he had not been able to locate Madame Sutlier, and he was not willing to go into the kitchen and ask anyone who worked for his mother. Gregory found him much later, bringing a stack of paperwork his solicitor had prepared.

"So how goes the visit?" he asked, throwing himself into a chair and propping his boots on the desk.

"I have only seen Mother briefly today. The medicine that she takes makes her very tired," Erik muttered. "Olivia sat with her, but she was asleep for most of the time. My coming here was not about reconciling with her in any case."

"She asks about you often," Gregory said quietly. "She's your mother."

"A fact that hardly escaped my notice," he replied, giving his friend a warning glance.

Gregory shrugged. "You believe a mother can choose one child over the other? She loves you. She loves Emma. It is no wonder her heart is weak."

"If you came here for a fight, you will have it." Erik leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripping the armrest. "What will it be, then?"

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Gregory smiled easily. "Fine. I have no wish to spar with you tonight." His grin widened even further, and Erik knew that he was only getting warmed up. "How are things with your wife?"

"None of your business, that's how they are."

"The maids say she was in quite a temper early this morning."

"What do you know about it?" Erik inquired silkily.

Gregory spread his hands. "Only that she was once again defending you. They would not say more," he said. "And on another note, the engineer has arrived to inspect the bridge. They will begin working on it next week."

Erik did not bat an eye at the change in subject. Usually when Gregory was like this, he was up to something. Instead of taking the bait, he merely shrugged. "Most curious."

"Speaking of the river, there is a small outdoor concerto tomorrow evening on the water. They are renting boats for anyone who wants to have a listen. Just drift down the river to the old part of town, and have a nice romantic evening alone with your wife. I am certain Olivia would enjoy it."

"I highly doubt that she would find coasting down a semi-flooded river in a rickety boat enjoyable." Ah, but the idea of the concerto did intrigue him. It was something he would rather do alone than with his wife. Especially given the fact that she was not speaking to him. "I assume you have taken the liberty of procuring one?"

"You assume correctly." Gregory stood suddenly. "And you now have your own room. Olivia is just across the hall, if you should _need_ her for anything."

Erik raised his free brow, but said nothing, allowing Gregory to come to his point all on his own.

"And you do need her. So you may as well stop lying to yourself."

Not for the first time, it felt as if everyone in the world were against him. He was no longer human to those he did not know, and to those he did, he was a bastard because he refused to accept Christine and Tylin's death as nothing more than a rut that had disrupted his carriage of life for a brief moment. Gregory had pushed him into something he was not ready for. He had never even intended to marry Olivia, much less develop an emotional connection to her.

"If I had made her my mistress, as I originally intended, none of this would have happened," Erik ground out, rising and placing his palms on his desk. "Emma would not have come back around, and I would not be here, when I swore never to return."

"You say that as if it's a terrible thing," Gregory said quietly. "Finding a woman who is kind, and having a family that wants to be part of your life. For you to be part of theirs. If you are blaming me for this, then I accept full responsibility."

"I never wanted_ any_ of this!"

They both turned sharply at a scraping sound in the hall. Gregory walked to the door and glanced outside, then turned to face him.

"Was that....?"

"Your wife," Gregory confirmed.

"Is she...." he broke off again, feeling an unwanted tightness in his chest. "Is she still there?"

"No. She turned and ran upstairs. Rather quickly, I'd say."

Well. Wasn't that just perfect.

* * *

It should not have stung so much, and yet it did. She had been on her way to apologize of all things! To apologize for what, she did not know, but she had not wanted any contention between them. But now, there would be plenty of it. The night was long, and the sounds of the city did not quite escape her on the second floor. Parts of Sarlat reminded her of Paris, ancient and mysterious. And terrifyingly unfamiliar. She dreamed of Charles that night, of finding him in the alley with blood pooling beneath him. Then it was on her hands. When she looked down again, it was no longer Charles whose dead eyes stared back at her, but Erik's. His face was perfect and handsome in the dream, perfect in deathly white stillness. She woke late to the sun glaring in her eyes from the open windows, and had never felt so unrested. She went downstairs, ate mechanically for a few moments until Gregory arrived, his hat in one hand.

"Good morning." He peered at her with narrowed eyes. "I take it you did not sleep well."

"Is it so obvious?" she murmured, sipping on her coffee.

"Well, no worries. I am here to bring you some most fortunate news. The Master has seen fit to grant you a few hours away for a bit of shopping and what-have-you. I am to be your roguishly charming yet impersonal escort."

Olivia closed her eyes, trying not to smile. "That is very kind of you, but I do not need anything."

"Rubbish. I have two sisters of my own you know. Very young, but every time I come into town, I'm beleaguered with requests for shopping trips and gifts. It's really all very sad. I have to spend my own money on them, you see. Now, I can encourage you to really put it to him." He grinned until both of his chins dimpled, and she could not help but laugh. "There's a girl. Are we all set then? I know where we can find some outrageously expensive jewelry, and some hideous paintings. They'd look garishly fabulous in the entrance at the manor."

Truly laughing now, Olivia rose suddenly. "I believe that sounds wonderful. I could certainly use some air this morning."

"Excellent."

She flew up the stairs to grab her pelisse, then back down them to join him. The narrow streets were busy and alive with vendors calling out for customers, with a few street entertainers and magicians trying to make a living. Gregory showed her the ancient church and the beauty of the city he had grown up in, some of it falling into disrepair and all of it very old and intriguing.

"Erik has accounts with most of the stores in town, so whatever you need, just put it towards his bill," Gregory explained after they were done exploring. He handed her a leather coin purse. "And for smaller incidentals, you can buy with this for now. We have a meeting with the solicitor in two hours, and he will assist you with anything else that you need."

Olivia's heart skipped a sudden beat. She had not even thought about her promise to Madame Joliot, nor to her debts to Monsieur Leverett. She asked Gregory about Leverett, but he waved a hand dismissively.

"It's being handled by Erik's solicitor in Paris. Erik is very thorough about such matters. Do not worry over it again."

"But..."

"Ah, here is the dressmaker," Gregory exclaimed, giving her a look that said the matter was closed. "Madame Reneau will take great care of you."

Olivia stalled outside the door. "I do not need more dresses."

Gregory stared at her. "I thought that was why you agreed to come. Isn't this what every woman wants?"

She shook her head. She had not married Erik to gain money or possessions for herself. It had never been about her wants, and last night, he had made it abundantly clear why he had married her - because he had wanted something from her.

Well, she was not a prize. And she was not for sale. Even the money she did take from him, she was doing it to keep the Joliots away, not for anything else.

"No. I would prefer to go see the solicitor. I do not need to buy anything," she said quietly.

Ever perceptive, Gregory tilted his head, his expression one of worry. "This is about what you overheard last night."

Olivia lifted her chin bravely.

Gregory glanced around, then led her to a bench beneath a Dutch elm. She sat down beside him, staring at a group of pigeons that were moving in a cautiously hopeful manner closer toward her feet.

"Erik did not intend for you to be his bride," Gregory said quietly. "But it was not because he did not want a bride. He never thought you would agree to marry him."

She recalled, how during his proposal, he had offered her both choices. She had sensed that he had not expected her to marry him. But she had certainly not known it was because he did not want to be married. She looked at Gregory, wanting an explanation.

"How can you know this? He did offer me both options. How do you know that it was only because he did not expect me to say yes, and that it was not because he truly did not want a wife?"

"I can't." He looked away, his expression taut. "Erik guards himself from everyone. Even me. But I don't think he wanted to be alone forever. I did encourage him to marry you instead of...instead of his other offer. I thought it would make him happier."

Olivia closed her eyes, remembering each word he had said to her. "I believe you are right. Why must he push me away so desperately then? Can't he see that I am perfectly willing to be his wife? His friend?"

"He doesn't think that he deserves to be happy again." Gregory smiled slightly. "Or perhaps the thought of it terrifies him so much, that he's afraid to even try. From what I hear, finding out his wife was unfaithful pretty much destroyed him. He truly, truly loved that woman. And she tore his heart to shreds."

"You are a good friend to him, Gregory," Olivia said softly.

"Me?" he scoffed loudly. "I am a constant annoyance to him. But he gave me a chance to prove myself, and I took it. I'll always look out for him. If I did not have this job, I would be laboring in the mines like my father, and I would have died of black lung, just like he did, before I was thirty. My sisters are in good schools, and my mother only works because she wants to, not to keep us all from starving. He puts up with me because he knows I would do anything for him."

"What should I do?" she whispered.

"Don't let him win," he replied. "If he does, neither of you will ever be happy."

* * *

Olivia returned to the house only to find that Erik was gone. The meeting with Joseph Picot, the solicitor, had been pleasant. His brother, Jean Picot, was also a solicitor who managed Erik's affairs in Paris. Gregory had left her alone with him, and she had discreetly asked for money to be wired to her former mother in law. If Erik asked her about it, she would simply tell him the truth. That she owed Madame Joliot for the years she had lived off of her, and that she wanted to give back to her. She sincerely hoped he did not keep track of her finances, otherwise it would become apparent that the money she was sending was something more than just payment for past debts. It was a bribe, pure and simple, to keep her away. But he had given her a separate account, and the solicitor had assured her that the money was hers, and it was more than an allowance. He had been more than generous with her.

Her conscious pricking at her, Olivia knocked softly at his mother's door, and waited until she was called inside.

"Madame?"

"Come in, Olivia." she smiled at her from a chair next to the window. "Oh, it does my heart good to see you. How kind of you to visit. Please, call me Madeline."

"Do you know where Erik went?" she asked softly. "His room is empty. I can't find him anywhere."

"There is absolutely no telling with him." Madame deVilliers gestured to the chair beside her. "Sit. I want to talk with you about my son."

Nervous, Olivia obeyed her, relieved when the older woman took her hand and smiled up into her eyes. She was painfully thin, but her eyes were sharp, and it was obvious she was only bedridden because her body could not tolerate any sort of physical activity. Erik had told her that she'd been ill for a long time, and that since the fire she had remained almost exclusively in bed.

"Now, tell me everything."

Taken by surprise, Olivia stared at her a moment.

"Ah, come now. I spend my life secluded here, and I can't pull one syllable from my son. Everything I hear is from Gregory or Emma. Tell me if he's happy."

"No, Madame," Olivia said gently. "I would not say that he is."

Madeline drew a deep breath, squaring her narrow shoulders. "He is stubborn like his father. I see that you are wearing my mother in law's ring. It looks perfect there." She took Olivia's hand and smiled. "If my Rene were alive, he never would have let this happen. He could always bring Erik in line."

"Let what happen?" Olivia asked. "The fire?"

"Oh, there was no stopping that." Madeline released her hand, her gaze becoming distant. "Christine loved my son, but she was weak. She needed so very much. And he could never see how lonely she was, even in a crowded room. She changed after my grandson was born, but I do not think it was enough. No, I was speaking of Erik forcing us out of his life like he did. My husband never would have stood for it."

"I don't understand." Olivia met her gaze. "I thought you and Emma left."

"We only left because he had become intolerable. I know how much the disaster hurt him. Physically. Emotionally. But he did not want us around. Emma and I came to live here, and when Raoul returned, trying to piece together his past, Emma fell in love. I could not deny her happiness. Erik had made it very clear he wanted nothing more to do with us." Madeline drew back a curtain absently, then let it fall. "And then he came back, and I thought briefly that everything would be fine. Then he found out about Emma and Raoul. Yesterday was the first time I had seen him since that night."

"I met Monsieur de Chagny," Olivia said softly. "He was at the house that burned."

"That boy." Madeline sighed. "He has absolutely no idea who he is. His family gave the title to some distant cousin. His family is ashamed of him, of the scandal. You might as well know that Emma and Raoul will be coming here this evening."

Shocked, Olivia felt her mouth drop open.

"Madame, I do not think it would be wise," she protested. "He doesn't need to reopen those wounds."

"I am not long for this world, Olivia. I have held on, hoping that one day I could see my son happy again, and this is the only way I see possible. Marrying you means that he has taken a giant leap, but there is so much more that needs to be said. He has to forgive Emma. He has to forgive me." A tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek, splashing onto the shawl she had wrapped around her. "And God help him, he has to forgive himself."

* * *

The violin concerto was tediously dull, but he stayed until intermission, merely glad to hear music again. The boat that Gregory had rented for him had been laden with soft, comfortable pillows, a bottle of wine, and enough food for two people. Candles lined one side of the shore, making it easy for him to navigate past the other boats and to a secluded dock. He tied the boat off and walked back down the streets, a cloak over his head. He felt guilty that he had not taken Olivia, but given her probable temperament, he had not been inclined to ask her. He regretted that she had heard his tirade. She had not deserved to hear the truth in such a callous, dismissive manner. And even before that, his harsh judgment of her reason behind the kiss. He still did not know what Madame Sutlier had done to earn his wife's wrath, but he decided that for once he would not press the issue.

He was surprised to see the house so well lit as he approached, allowing a footman to take his cloak and removing his gloves. He could hear quite murmurs coming from the drawing room, and apprehension began to grow in him.

"Do we have guests?" he asked the young man staring at his feet.

"M-Monsieur and Madame de C-Chagny are here, Sir."

Erik swiveled around, blindly reaching for the door when Emma's voice stopped him.

"Please," she was saying. "Mother is expecting you."

He turned his head. "She can go on expecting me. Do you understand what will happen if I go in there, Emma? Do you?"

"You will behave for Mother's sake," she whispered fiercely, striding up to him. "If you want to truly break her heart, walk away from us again, then do it. We are through being blamed. This is between you and Raoul. It is time for this to be set straight. Once and for all."

"Ah, you expect me to coddle him and forgive him," Erik sneered. "I will never. Do you understand Emma? Never. If it is a magnanimous reunion you want, then you're a fool."

Glaring at her, he stalked to the open door of the drawing room and stepped inside, finding Olivia with one glance. She looked terrified, and stared at him helplessly, her eyes full of apology. His mother was seated beside her, no doubt carried down by one of the footmen. It was serious indeed if she had left her bedchamber.

His gaze cut to de Chagny, and it took every ounce of self control not to lunge for him. Only the sight of a wiggling pink blanket in his arms saved him. How strategic, he thought vengefully. "You may have my mother and my sister convinced, but do not mistake me for them. If you value your life, you will put Emma on a leash and stop her from thrusting you in my path at every opportunity."

"Erik, enough." His mother looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "Raoul has something he wants to say to you. It would be a great favor to me if you would listen to him."

"There is nothing he can say," Erik said harshly. "Nothing will bring them back."

"I did not have an affair with your wife."

Erik turned on him, his fists clenched tightly. "You think I give a damn about that now? Compared to everything else that you did to me, sleeping with my wife was the least of it."

The boy's face turned red, and he looked away.

"And the last I heard, you had very conveniently forgotten everything about that night. About yourself. So how in God's name would you even know?"

Raoul shifted the babe slightly, reaching into his frock coat and producing a letter. He set it on the seat of the sofa. "I found this among my personal effects after I returned from the hospital. If it is any consolation, she did not love me."

Unwillingly Erik snatched the letter up, but did not read it. He would judge for himself if it was Christine's handwriting or not, but he would do it later. "This changes nothing," he said coldly. Without looking at his wife, he left the room.

He had heard enough.

He had only made it a block when he heard footsteps chasing after him. He turned, thinking it would be Olivia. Or even Emma. He was startled to see the boy chasing him down.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, spreading his legs widely apart. He waited until de Chagny was almost upon him before he unclenched his fist. If he ever started beating him again, he would not stop. "You have no sense of self preservation, do you?"

"I have to know what happened that night," Raoul said, advancing on him even further. "You are the only one with answers. You may call me a liar all that you will, but I am telling the truth. I have no memory of that night. I have no memory of your wife. Of anything. I did not even know who you were or why you hated me, for God's sakes. Emma had to explain it to me."

"You insinuated yourself into my marriage," Erik shouted, grabbing the boy around his throat. He pulled him so close, wanting very much to squeeze the life out of him. Slowly. Extinguish his existence as slowly and quietly as possible, so that he too would know what it felt like to be strangled from the outside, unable to breathe, unable to feel anything any longer. "You tried to steal my wife's heart, and when that wasn't enough, you took her life. My son's life. Do you want to see, Monsieur, what your carelessness did to me? To my family? No. If you want to see a freak, go to the fair. You'll get no show here. No answers either. If you truly don't remember - if that is what would give you the greatest peace, to _know_ - then just know that I will never tell you. You don't deserve peace."

"Please," Raoul wheezed, his lips barely able to move. "Emma....Alexi.....please."

Erik released him, and the boy dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

"Stay away from me, or I won't stop next time," Erik rasped, his hands trembling in rage.

De Chagny did not follow him this time as he left. His footsteps must have carried him miles before his anger cooled, and he felt the letter still in his hand. He stopped beneath the light of a doorway and read the three brief lines his wife had written so long ago.

And for the first time in ages, he broke down.

* * *

There aren't many more chapters in this story. Compared to my others, this one is very short indeed!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Olivia stood after Raoul had left, facing Emma and Madeline, who were both ashen faced and silent. She had tried to talk to Emma to no avail before Erik had arrived. They were both so righteous and completely wrong.

"You ask too much of him," she whispered. "We will be leaving in the morning, and I hope that you will respect his wishes from this point forward. This was unnecessary. It was downright cruel."

"I thought you would understand!" Emma exclaimed, rising to her feet. "Don't you want him to be a good husband to you? Don't you see that the only way he can be is to put the past behind him?"

"He is a good husband!" Olivia said fiercely. "It does not matter to me that he is damaged. I love him because he is strong enough to bear those scars, not in spite of them. But no one could be strong enough for this. I don't know how your intentions could be good, because all you are doing is tearing him apart, and driving him further away."

"If you love him, you will help us," Madeline whispered.

Olivia stared at her in-laws in disbelief. "When you love someone, you don't try to control their emotions, twisting them to whichever way you want, simply so that _you _can have peace of mind. Have you thought for one moment about what might make _him_ happy? Perhaps now it is never to see either of you again. And I would not blame him one second if those were his wishes. Who are you to decide for him who he can and cannot hate? As I see it, you chose Raoul de Chagny over your own brother. Your own son, who was hurting, and lashing out, yes, but he needed you, and you let him push you away then instead of fighting for him. It's too late to fight for him now. You made your choice. Now let him make his."

"She is right."

Emma turned to see Raoul, his clothing no longer quite so neat, standing in the door way. She could see a distinct hand print around his throat, and it made her shiver that her husband had gone that far.

"I will not let you push him again, Emma. Not after tonight," he said, his voice hoarse. He looked to Olivia, and she could see unshed tears in his eyes, and a weariness behind them that made her believe he spoke the truth. "Will you tell him something for me, Madame? Tell him that I am sorry. I know that it will never mean a thing to him to hear me say it, but whatever I did....I am deeply, deeply sorry."

Olivia nodded, watching as Emma kissed her mother goodbye. They gathered the babe and left together, their faces drained of all emotion. Olivia looked back to Madeline. She honestly did not know what to think of her now. It was obvious that it did not matter to Erik any longer if his mother approved of her or not. And why would it? She seemed so concerned with dying and leaving this unresolved, that she did not care for her son's feelings.

"Would you mind calling someone to take me upstairs?" Madeline whispered. "This was a terrible mistake. I thought....I thought since you were married....since he loves you...."

"He does not love me." Olivia sat down beside Madeline – took her hand. "Your son married me because I was in a desperate situation, and he was lonely. Marrying me does not mean he will ever forget Christine, or his son, even if he has another - someday. Nor will it mean that he will forgive you or Emma. Or Raoul. That is something that comes from a place I am no longer sure that he has. Please accept my sympathy, but you have no right to demand or expect his forgiveness. It is only something he can give, and it has to be given _willingly_."

Even as she spoke the words, Olivia knew that one day, her time would come as well, to beg him to forgive her. And after what she had witnessed tonight, she vowed that she would never put him through such emotional blackmail. She handed Madeline a handkerchief, her heart breaking for her, because she knew that he would not forgive his mother in this lifetime, and perhaps even in the afterlife.

A footman came, carrying Madeline easily up the stairs, and Olivia retired to her room, completely exhausted. She tried listening for his footsteps, but fell asleep after midnight, unable to hold her eyes open again. It was the slight shift of the mattress that woke her. She turned her head, and saw him removing his shirt. The room had three floor length windows, one of them providing an opening for the moonlight to strike through. His back was every bit scarred as it felt, with both silvery and purple stripes down the side, and soft, waxen looking skin across his shoulder. She watched, mesmerized, as he undressed, catching a glimpse of his backside. She had not truly seen his body. Just touching with her fingertips, she knew where the scars on him were. His back, his side. Part of his stomach and chest. His arms and hands as well, though it looked as if they had healed better than the rest of him. Her eyes widened as she saw his silhouette remove the mask and set it on the nightstand, and then the hairpiece. She turned before he caught her looking, and closed her eyes as he slid into bed with her. He did not touch her at first, but then he rolled to her in one motion, his arm slipping around her waist.

"Erik?" she whispered, not wanting him to know she was awake and what she had seen.

"Shhh. Sleep, Olivia."

His arms tightened around her, his face buried against her neck. He breathed in and exhaled deeply. It was the first time he had ever sought comfort in her, and it wrenched her heart to know that they had driven him to this. She had told Emma and Madeline that she loved him, and she knew it was not just because he needed her love so much. It was because of everything he had done for her, and expected nothing in return. Because he had not believed himself capable of having a wife, and yet he had given her more happiness than Charles had ever dreamed of. He was not selfish, not childish. She did not need to know why she loved him, only that she did. But she did not share her feelings with him. Not yet.

"I am sorry for what you overheard last night," he said softly. "And I am sorry for what I said yesterday. I did not mean to hurt you."

"Why _did_ you marry me?" she asked.

"Because I needed you."

Satisfied with his answer, even if she were disturbed by her own, she closed her eyes and drifted toward sleep.

She woke again when the moon had slipped behind the clouds, and she could feel his breath, warm and lingering against her neck. His arousal was jutting outward from his body, against her lower back, and the sensation of warm, moving skin stirred her awake completely. She turned in his arms, and he opened his eyes. She could see the right side of his face fully, but the night concealed from her the color, making that side look unnaturally dark but nothing more. Before he was aware of what she was doing, her hand had slipped between them, and she grasped him.

He hissed softly, winding a hand in her hair and bringing her face down to his. She kissed him eagerly, and yes, wantonly, because that was how he made her feel - wanton with desire. His touch. His scent. Nothing mattered to her except his pleasure, and hers. She rose up on her knees and pulled her gown free, her hands going back to the long heat of him, to the base, where thick dark curls proudly displayed him. Her fingers slid to the ever swelling tip. He groaned as she kissed him there, his hands reaching for her to push her away, but instead holding her there as the swift, warm sear of her mouth engulfed him.

_"Olivia."_

She stayed there, tasting him, pleasuring him, until he sat up suddenly, pulling her back down against him.

"Dear God," he breathed, staring at her in wonder, absolutely speechless.

She smiled down at him as her leg swung over him, and she watched his eyes close again. He rose up once more as she lowered herself onto him completely, their arms wrapped around each other, they lost themselves to the same rhythm - maddeningly slow. delightfully sweet.

"There are other ways," she whispered against his ear. "Tell me that you know them. Show me." She caught the edge of his earlobe with her teeth. "I want you, Erik. No one but you."

He pushed her upright slightly, searching her eyes as they both slowed, but did not stop.

"No one but you," Olivia said again. "Make love to me. With all of yourself."

"Olivia." He touched her cheek, doubt and fear beginning to build behind those glittering eyes.

"I need you, Erik." She kissed him until passion replaced fear. Until desire replaced anything else that he might possibly be thinking of.

He slowly rolled them sideways, until she was on her back and he was on top of her. His hands slid beneath her buttocks, and he lifted her legs over his own. Her eyes met his as he linked their hands, his forearms braced against her wrists. He slid into her deeply, withdrew, then again, until her body was straining for release, and her muscles began to burn with the effort to meet him, thrust for thrust. His hand spanned her ribcage, one thumb coming to tease at her breast until she'd gone almost mad. He rolled the hardening peak between his fingers, increasing pressure when she cried out in pleasure. She begged him to do more. And he did. He discovered her body as if she were_ his_, and not a mere stranger. He made love to her the way she had wanted, the way he had wanted, but had been too afraid. She came hard, crying out, and he covered her mouth with his until she had nothing left but a whimper of satisfaction, and then he was too, the hot rush into the center of her being even deeper than before. She savored the slick hot tangle of his body against hers, until they were both brought back to earth.

"Promise me something," she whispered, her arms tightening around him.

"Anything." He gazed down at her. "What is it?"

"Do not spend another night alone." She kissed his lips. "As long as I am your wife, I want you in my bed every single night."

"Even if I leave before the sun comes?" he asked, rolling onto his back, his gaze on the ceiling.

"You don't have to leave." She leaned up so she could look down at him. "I am afraid that one day something will happen, and I will see something that you do not want me to see. Or perhaps we could live twenty years together with this between us, always there." She touched his right cheek, and he did not stop her. "Perhaps in fifty years it will not matter. We'll both be old and wrinkled. But I do not want you to think that _this_ matters to me. You could stay until morning, and we can put this behind us now. It's your choice. It will _always_ be yours."

Erik propped up on his elbow, bringing her hand to his mouth. "You are a rare woman."

"I wish that everyone could see what I see."

He traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping away tears as quickly as he could. "Shhh. Don't cry," he pleaded. "Tell me what _you_ see."

She kissed the scarred side of his face, every inch, every rough bit of it. Each wrinkled lump of skin, and the places where it was so tight it no longer looked like a face at all. Her lips met his only briefly before she stopped to stare into his eyes.

"I see you."

* * *

_"Please stay away from my family. I love my husband. I am sorry for hurting you, Raoul, but this is for the best."_

Erik lay next to Olivia, his eyes closed, but not sleeping, repeating those words in his mind like a mantra. Beautiful Christine. He wished that he had one last moment with her. To say goodbye. To tell her how wrong he had been...how sorry he was for hurting her so much. He had cut her to the bone, and she had still loved him. It was the last thing she had ever said to him, and he, unable to do anything more than scream in pain and anger, had not said it back. She still might have lain with de Chagny. He would never know. It healed him somewhat to know that she had never intended to leave. It made him hate de Chagny all the more. The boy must have known that, but he'd given him the letter anyway.

He did not sleep, and the sun began to rise only two hours later. Sitting up in bed, he reached for the mask, but did not put it on. Olivia was right. He dreaded the moment more than anything, but he knew that she would not hurt him even if his face disgusted her. She would look at him and smile, and he would never know what she thought of his face. He had worried so much that it might happen at an inopportune moment – the horse ramming his head against the mask wanting an ear scratched – a door catching the side and ripping it loose. Or she could simply walk in one day, and he would be defenseless against her eyes, and he knew that such a situation would ignite anger on his part. She did not deserve that. Nothing was failsafe. He would never go without it. He had not taken it off for anyone since his mother had given it to him – out of kindness, she had said, but he would always secretly wonder if she was telling the truth. But he could do this, just this once, and never again.

He turned to look at her as light began to fill the room. Sunrise revealed the red in her hair, how light freckles had scattered across her back and shoulders. She was so beautiful it made his throat ache, and he began to wonder if he loved her, or if simply he loved the way she made him feel. He could not have chosen better, and he realized how glad he was that he had asked her to marry him, and that she had said yes. He wanted to touch her even now, and knew that she would welcome it, but his hands were unsteady and he kept holding the mask. She began to stir, and his heart quickened as she rolled onto her back, the sheet sliding away and revealing one temptingly beautiful breast.

His gaze jerked back to hers as she lifted her hand and touched his arm.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked, her face flushing as she reached for the sheet to cover herself.

"No." He swallowed, giving her his profile. It felt as if a dozen horses stood on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. She sat up, her hand running through his hair, and he tried to speak, but his voice was trapped inside. He felt panic begin to stir.

Olivia touched his chin, turning his face towards hers.

And then she smiled, and it felt as it always did with her. She was like a pendulum, taking everything in stride, never allowing anything to divert or ruffle her. It was almost exasperating how she could sit there so calmly when it felt like his world was coming apart – his ugliness there for her to see, but she just cupped his crippled face and kissed him.

"Take me home?" she asked softly.

"Of course," he replied, his throat tightening. His eyes began to burn, and he blinked quickly, turning away from her._ Home. _The word had never sounded so sweet.

He felt her eyes on him as he stood, and he glanced back towards her. She was certainly a curious woman, his wife. She took it all in unabashedly, a slow smile creeping across her face, unlike any he'd ever seen. It was the sort of smile that his body understood, and it began to react appropriately. He couldn't have been more surprised if she had suddenly began to twirl around the room naked. And even more surprising, was the teasing remark that came to his lips, but was left unvoiced. Some things would never come naturally to him again, no matter how comfortable she made him feel.

"Ah...Erik?"

He met her eyes, saw that expression now mirrored in them.

"I did not mean right this moment." She lifted the sheet invitingly. "Why don't you come back to bed?"

His mouth opened, then closed. "Perhaps....perhaps my room would be better," he said, clearing his throat nervously. "It is...." He lifted his hand absently towards the windows.

Olivia stood, laughing, and drew the sheet around her body. "It is very early, isn't it?"

He inclined his head, watching her move towards the door.

"No one will be moving about at this hour." She wrapped the sheet once more around herself, and tucked the end between her breasts. "I will be waiting for you across the hall, then."

He did his very best not to keep her waiting a moment longer than necessary.


	13. Chapter 13

Hope all my readers are doing well! I am sorry that I have not responded to many of the wonderful reviews. I have been swamped at work and read most of them on my cell phone while I'm on my lunch break, but I do appreciate each and every one! The story moves forward quite a bit here, but I believe that everything flows very smoothly. I do need to make a couple of changes to the next chapter and perhaps do an epilogue, but this story has basically been finished for several months.

Enjoy...

**Chapter 13**

For Olivia everything had changed, and yet in many ways nothing at all had changed. Erik gave himself over to her, but it was a slow and painstaking process, and the entire time she wondered if she had made a mistake, encouraging him to open up to her so much. He spoke freely of his life before the accident, but there was still an emotional disconnectedness that was heartbreaking. He could not reconcile himself with being that same man – that young, strong, and handsome man, the man he insisted no longer existed. Piece by piece, Olivia could see glimpses of him shining through, and she found she could not tear down the wall quickly enough to suit her. She knew that he would never be the same, and she did not expect him to be, but she wanted to always see that confident light in his eyes that was finally there when they made love.

He did not speak of the here and now, or of the future, and it was that which concerned her most. Sometimes she would lie next to him at night and listen to his heartbeat, as she had done once with Charles, and it frightened her to the core to think that she might lose him too. Not to death. But to her own lies. She loved him, and began to love him more deeply every day, and she could only hope that he felt it in her kiss and could see it in her eyes. She could not say it to him – not until she was certain that he loved her, and she was not still merely a convenient wife. She knew that for men emotions and sex were tied together, intrinsically. She did not know if Erik loved her, or if he loved what she could do for him in the darkness of the bedchamber. Even if he did not love her, she knew that for the first time in her life, she was happy.

Erik showed her the land surrounding the house, as promised. The most beautiful places on the river, where she skipped rocks as he stood nearby, watching. The ruins of an old castle, which she had wanted to explore further, but he saw someone there before they reached them, and they had turned back. The folly tower, which he climbed with her, but would not make love to her in because it was daylight, and he was obviously concerned about the mask.

A living, breathing man, who refused to participate in_ life_.

It frustrated her to the core, knowing that he had cut himself off of so many things, that he would not even do them with her - his wife. She wanted him to find enjoyment in something other than work, but it seemed there was nothing she could offer him, save one thing.

For now, it was enough. But she began to wonder if it would always be.

Summer faded to fall, and Olivia remembered how her mother always planted flowers in the courtyard below their apartment above the inn. She ordered seeds and planted them, impatient to see them grow in the spring. Erik said nothing as she began to change the house, room by room, to suit her. Even Madame Sutlier began to soften towards them both, seeing a side of Erik that had been missing for a very long time. The river returned to its normal size, and Gregory showed her where it was safe to cross to ride into Sarlat, and once, she even went on her own.

She sent Beatrice more money, and tried her very best to forget about the Joliots. But on the first day of winter, Robert arrived with Monsieur Leverette himself, and the life she had made for herself crumbled to nothing more than dust.

* * *

He was building Olivia an orangery. It was nothing quite as grand as the one in Paris, but Olivia enjoyed her gardening until it had grown too cold to stay outside and work in the soil, and he wanted to give her something she could enjoy. Erik had drawn up the plans, and Gregory had hired workers to prepare the ground and deliver the material. Olivia knew he was doing something, but she did not know exactly what until the glass had begun to arrive. He had never seen a more surprised look on her face before, and she'd tearfully kissed him.

Scaling the metal was painful, and sitting on top of the skeleton was even more so, but he wanted to do the work himself. Gregory handed him things from the ground, but mostly stood nearby and commented helpfully while Erik glared at him. He had just cut his hand for the tenth time when he saw Madame Sutlier running down the hill towards them, her skirts pulled up with both hands, and an expression of sheer panic on her face.

"Monsieur! Come quickly! Monsieur!" she screamed.

He slid down a metal beam to the ladder, and missed nearly every rung in his haste to get down. Gregory had already reached her, and was trying to calm her down by the time he reached the grown.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Is it Olivia?"

"Leverette is here," Gregory said, "and Robert Joliot."

"He struck her! Monsieur Joliot is yelling at her to get in the carriage and leave with him!"

Without waiting for further explanation, Erik raced up the hill to the house, his heart near to exploding in anger. The front door stood wide open, and he saw Robert rearing back to kick the library doors. They busted wide open. By the time Erik made it to them, Robert had her by the wrist, and flung her to the ground. Olivia cried out, sliding across the floor with her skirts flouncing around her. Robert raised his fist to strike her again, but Erik was already upon him. He grabbed him by the collar and flung him backwards, his head crashing through the balusters on the staircase. Monsieur Leverette was propped against the wall, an astonished expression on his face.

"I will deal with you in a moment," he told Leverette, barely glancing at him. He crouched next to Olivia, her quite sobs inflaming his anger even more. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, gripping his hand tightly, not looking at him. Erik brushed the hair away from her face. There was a cut on her bottom lip. He handed her a square of linen and helped her stand.

"Go upstairs while I handle this."

"Oh, I think she should stay," Leverette said, his cultured voice making Erik turn. "This is about her, after all. It's nice to see you again, de Villiers, even under such unfortunate circumstances."

"You made a mistake coming here."

"And you made a mistake, having your solicitor dangle that offer before me," the other man snapped, coming into the room with them. "If you had paid the debt, this might not have happened. Obviously she was not convincing enough."

Erik glanced at Olivia. "My solicitor was instructed to pay you once the notes were produced. If you were not keeping diligent records, then I am sorry. I am not a fool."

"I know something that may change your mind," Leverette replied, his voice soft and taunting. "You do not think that a woman as beautiful as Olivia would marry you out of the goodness of her heart, do you? That meeting her was a coincidence? If so, then you are very much a fool."

His eyes cut to Olivia, to her face, which had blanched white. She would not meet his eyes, and her lips trembled. "What does he mean?"

"I mean-"

He held his hand up towards Leverette. "I was speaking to my _wife_."

Leverette began to smile, looking at Olivia. "Perhaps you were more convincing than I first thought. You certainly paid your debt to Beatrice, as promised."

Erik glanced towards Gregory and Madame Sutlier as they came through the door. Gregory was staring down at Robert with wide eyes. He had a revolver in one hand, but put it away when he saw that Olivia was safe.

"Madame Sutlier, please take Olivia upstairs," Erik said quietly. He reached for her, but she stepped away, her eyes finally meeting his.

"No," she whispered. "You need to hear this."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me later," he said softly, for her ears only. "After they are gone."

"I'm truly sorry Erik. I never wanted to deceive you, of all people." She held her arms stiffly at her sides, apology and fear written into every small movement.

He stared at her, worry truly beginning to sprout inside of him. He'd never had any inkling that things might be amiss with her. She was the reason light and laughter were in his life again. What could it be putting that terrible look in her eyes. "What exactly are you hiding from me? Is it so terrible?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied tearfully. "I told you about Charles. What I did not tell you is that I helped him. And after he died, I continued to do those things. Steal. Lie. I did it to pay off his debts to Monsieur Leverette, and to everyone else. Beatrice brought me here to steal from you."

The air seemed to leave him for several moments as what she said sank in, but he could not believe it, even coming from her lips. Even if she had done those things in the past, it was because her husband put her in that position. But she was his wife now. He had wanted to do everything he could to protect her. Perhaps she had never truly needed it.

"She did her part, too," Leverette added. "She married you. That was part of the plan, wasn't it, dear?" He waited until she nodded before he stepped forward. "It must have been terrible for you. I understand he's perfectly hideous now, from the fire and all."

"Careful, Monsieur," Erik said, the barb not sinking in nearly half as much as the truth, "or it will be very difficult to explain why you are missing a head." He turned towards Gregory. "See them outside before I lose my temper."

"I am not leaving until I get what I came for," Leverette insisted. "Either you hand me the money, or the violins, or else."

"Or else what?" Erik stalked across the room, sending a chair crashing to the floor as he shoved it out of his way. He snapped his fingers at Gregory, and the pistol was placed in his hand. Leverette's eyes widened as the gun was brought up, level with his eyes. Behind him he heard his wife cry out. "I do not take kindly to threats."

Erik grabbed the barrel with his other hand, and pistol whipped him across the temple, knocking him out cold. Without hesitating, he grabbed him by the boots and hauled him outside, Gregory following with a semi-unconscious Joliot. He opened the carriage door and threw him inside, then turned to Robert.

"Listen to me, and listen well," he said quietly, grabbing him by the hair to hold his head up, and putting his finger an inch away from his nose. "You will not come here again. You will not contact Olivia again. And neither of you will ever receive another franc from me. Do you understand?"

Robert managed to make a garbled noise, and Erik took that for acquiesce. Gregory shoved Robert inside on top of Leverette, then turned to the wide eyed driver.

"To Paris, with haste, Monsieur," he said, slipping the man several bills. He turned to Erik, looking stunned.

"Not a word, Gregory," Erik muttered, staring at the house. Wondering what he should do. He could not bear the thought of sending her with them, but it felt as if the rug had been pulled from his feet. She was a fraud. Their marriage was nothing but a fraud. It began coming to him in waves, every kind word, every gesture. The very first kiss, and each breathtaking one thereafter. It had all been nothing but a very elaborate and cruel lie, all designed to open his wallet. "Find out from the solicitor how much I've been taken for."

"Erik I-"

"Do it now!" he snapped.

Olivia was sitting in the library when he returned - her face pale, her eyes filled with fear. He realized he was still holding the gun when she began to stare at it. He set it aside.

"It is not loaded. I would not have used it in any case." He stood in front of her, feeling unsure. She was still bleeding. Her blood was real. The fear in her eyes was real. He sank to his knees, took the linen from her hands. She sat perfectly still as he held the square to her lip. "I won't hurt you," he added quietly.

"I'm so sorry." Her eyes sprang with fresh tears. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, and she kissed the inside of it, where fear throbbed, real and terribly painful. His eyes closed, and he had to resist the urge to gather her in his arms and hold her. "I desperately wanted to be away from them. I'm so sorry I lied to you."

He touched the still pink scar on her forehead. "The truth, Olivia."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Robert did this," she whispered, touching the scar. Her hand brushed his, and he moved his away.

"Very dedicated to your work, aren't you?" he asked, sitting back on his heels. She flinched at the cooling tone of his voice. "What else?"

"The bridge was not taken by the water. Robert set dynamite and blew it up. Beatrice knew that you were - reclusive. She wanted me to be injured so that we would not be able to leave. They wanted me to marry you and for me to hand over your money, your violins. A Stridi-"

"A Stradivarius?"

She nodded, her face turning red. "There was another. I forget the name."

The de Gesú. If he had known, he would have gladly handed it over to Leverette. He'd never wanted the damn thing to begin with. "Ambitious weren't they?"

Olivia met his eyes, reached for his hands. "The night that I accepted your proposal, I said that Beatrice did not speak for me anymore. I meant that. I told her that I would send her money every month if she would just let me go."

He stood quickly, feeling confused and angry, but not wanting to lash out at her. It was best to say nothing at all until he could decide what he wanted to do. The thought of losing her hurt too much. But he no longer trusted her. He would never look at her the same way again.

"You've said a great many things to me over the course of five months."

Olivia gazed up at him, her expression tremulous. "I haven't said that I love you. I do."

His laughter boomed off the walls. "Don't you dare say it to me right now."

She did not try to stop him as he left the room, his hands trembling, his mind spinning.

His heart shattering.

* * *

Olivia left the next morning while Gregory was busy working alone on the orangery. Erik had not come home the night before, and she had not expected him to. Her eyes were dry as she saddled her mare quickly and placed a satchel filled with her clothes over her shoulder. No one was there to see her trot off into the woods near the stable then circle around the trail leading to the river crossing. An unbearable pressure had built inside her chest, but she had cried too much the night before, so she suppressed the tears. Sarlat was only an hour away now that the river had gone down, and she wanted to be well away from here as quickly as possible. She had not left him a note. She had not known what to say, and nothing would change his mind. Erik was stubborn. He would never forgive her for what she had done. She would never forgive herself for putting that look in his eyes.

And she had already promised herself she would not do the same things his mother and sister had done. She would not twist his emotions and manipulate him into feeling guilty so that her guilt would lessen. Deep down Olivia had always known that her time with him was limited. The last five months had been the most wonderful ones of her life. Erik was not the only one who had needed a gentle hand and kindness granted. He had healed her heart, and restored her faith in the goodness of men. She only wished she had told him how she felt before yesterday. Perhaps then things might have gone differently.

When Robert had knocked on the door, she had been expecting Emma. She had been terrified to see Robert standing there instead, his lips twisted into the cruel semblance of a smile, and beside him Russell Leverette had looked just as smug. She had known then, that they would never leave her in peace. They would never allow her to be happy, to live a life all her own. She had not known that Erik hadn't paid the debt, but it really did not matter. If he had paid it, they would keep coming back until there was nothing left. And she knew that Erik would never tolerate it. It was easier this way, so that he would still be angry with her about the deception, when he found out that she was gone. When he had pulled the gun on Leverette she had seen murderous rage in his eyes. She had been afraid of him in that moment – afraid of what he was capable of doing. Not to her. But to someone else.

She crossed the river, the cold water coming just beneath the mare's belly, then was up the other bank. The road to Sarlat was surprisingly busy with men heading towards the water, and she heard some of them complaining that they were going down to start working on the bridge. Yet another reason for her to feel guilty.

She dug her heels into the mare and hurried into Sarlat, finding the solicitor. He seemed rather surprised to see her, but quickly agreed to find someone to return the mare to Erik's estate. He mentioned an urgent financial report that her husband had ordered, and felt her face grow hot. She did not explain to him where she was going. At the bank she only withdrew enough funds for a train ticket.

As the train pulled away, she thought she saw Gregory rush out the station doors, but when he turned, it wasn't him. Olivia sank back against her seat, unsure if it was relief she felt - or pure disappointment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Olivia had taken her things. Most of her dresses, which had begun to migrate towards his room slowly over the last two months, until one day he'd been surprised to find that they were fully sharing a room, were now gone. The vanity that he'd pushed in from her room – which had once been Emma's room – was lined with everything except for her brushes. There were still bottles of lotions and perfumes, small tins of makeup he hadn't even known she'd used until he'd opened the doors, searching for a note, anything to tell him where she had gone. He already knew the why. When he found her engagement ring and wedding band sitting on his bureau, he knew she had not left one. She was gone, and she did not want to be found. Her trunks were closed neatly, more than half of her belongings still inside. Obviously she was traveling light, and in a hurry. A man his solicitor hired returned his mare to him the day after she left, with a sealed report that he had asked for. He tossed the report on his desk, unopened. He did not want to know how much she had taken. As much as she had done, he wanted her back. He wanted to believe in that pure, sweet woman who had made him feel joyful for the first time in so long.

Olivia had lied to him, then she had left him. He reflected bitterly that the last thing she had said was that she loved him, as Christine had done, but he did not believe Olivia. It was rather convenient for her to say it now, when the truth had been brought out in such a fashion. He sank into a depression for weeks, not interested in food or work, or even drink. Slowly he realized that he loved her. He loved her, and she was gone. And she had taken all of the light that she had brought to him. All of the laughter.

Gregory did not even come to dole out his youthful wisdom. Erik knew that he was still working on the orangery, but he said nothing to him about it. He couldn't tear it down, but he couldn't summon the energy to complete it. There was simply no point. It was growing closer to Christmas, but it was a mild winter. He barely noticed the trees were now bare, or that Trouble's coat had grown thick. He spent his days in the studio, but did not work. He tried to read, and all he could think of was his wife. If he slept, he dreamed of her. He wondered how she had looked him in the eyes without the mask and kissed him. He wondered if he ought to go find her, but mostly he wondered if any of the moments playing out in his memory had been genuine. It felt like the most awful thing in the world not to know.

Emma arrived in his studio Christmas Eve, holding a small box wrapped in brown paper tied with a red ribbon He was glad to see his sister for the first time in a very long time, and accepted her hug with a crushing sense of longing for one of her unsolicited opinions.

"It is good to see you brother," she whispered, her face the picture of contriteness. She looked surprised and happy to be well received, and he held her a moment longer than he ever had before. "Gregory told me that Olivia is gone. How are you doing?"

"I do not mend easily," he muttered. "I am doing as well as can be expected."

She released him, giving a sorrowful smile. "What happened? She seemed so perfect for you. Where did she go?"

"If I knew, I would ask her," Erik replied, propping up against his desk. "She married me to get at my money."

"Of course she did, you idiot. But that doesn't mean she did not love you."

Erik narrowed his eyes at her, but she held up a hand.

"Oh, Erik. For women who do not have money, that is the _only_ reason to marry. Safety. Security. Finding someone who does not beat them and is not selfish or cruel. Men can do anything without a wife and survive. A woman can do very little without a husband. Sometimes love isn't everything to a woman. Although I find it very sad when someone never feels it. Did you yell at her?"

"I do not recall. I was angry. And marrying for security is a good deal different than marrying with the sole intent of divesting me of my fortune. She said herself that her husband made his living at such confidence games. She admitted to me that she participated. I am sure I am not the first man to have fallen for that pretty face."

"She did love you, Erik," Emma said quietly. "Her words, not mine. Olivia said that she loved you. And she told Mother that _you_ did not love _her._"

Erik just stared at his sister, trying to dampen down the feelings that raced through him and failing.

"You have no idea where she might be?"

"Paris, perhaps?" he asked, shrugging. "That is where she had been living. She may have gone back to live with her first husband's family."

"After all the money she took?" Emma asked doubtfully.

"She took it for _them_," he muttered, reaching back for the report that he had finally opened a few days earlier. She had taken nothing for herself except for the ticket she bought to leave him with, and a few garden supplies while she had lived with him. Everything had been sent to Beatrice Joliot. No jewelry. No frivolous womanly things. He had thought that she must have sent the money to Beatrice for safekeeping, and intended to go back to her. He could not imagine any other reason why she would not take money for herself.

But what sort of thief planted tulips for the spring, if they did not intend to be there to see them bloom?

"Hmmm. I believe things will work out. She will come back when she is ready. I don't believe Olivia was the gold digging young thing that you seem to think of her. And I know that she loved you, and she did not want to hurt you. Knowing your temper, she probably was afraid. Try to find her, Erik. Tell her that you love her – and I see that you do, so don't bother denying it. That is the only way to end your misery." She smiled quizzically, then shrugged as well. She held out the gift for him. "There is a portrait of Alexi in here. You do not have to open it if you want to be a terrible uncle."

Erik's lips lifted. Emma did not like to surprise people with gifts. She had always told them what was inside before they ever opened it. He tore the paper open, and stared at his niece. She had the same wispy wild hair as Tylin. Her eyes were blue, like her father's, instead of green. His chest tightened, and he grew a bit misty eyed. He gave her a rueful smile.

"She's beautiful, Emma," he managed to say.

Her mouth began to wobble, and she embraced him quickly. She looked up at him.

"Olivia said some things to Mother and me that made a great deal of sense," she whispered. "We thought that if we could convince you to forgive Raoul, that you would forgive us as well. I am sorry we did not try harder to be there for you. I am sorry that we abandoned you. I can't believe that now she's done the same thing. Won't you go find her?"

"No." Erik shook his head, stepping away. "She made it clear that she does not want to be found."

Emma regarded him with an exasperated expression, then shook her head. "Well, I am going to see Mother. I just came from Monsieur Leverette's funeral in Paris, and she was troubled that she did not get to go."

Erik turned back to her. "Whose funeral?"

"Monsieur Leverette. You remember him, don't you?"

"He's _dead_?" Dear God, had he killed him? He had hit him very hard. But a lethal blow?

Emma looked at him strangely. "I thought you couldn't stand Leverette. The only reason I went was because Mother insisted that I go. What's wrong? You look very pale."

"How did he die?" he demanded.

"He was shot in the back. Probably fondled the wrong man's wife." Emma slapped him with her gloves. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Olivia." He had been murdered, apparently just as her husband had been. "She owed him a great deal of money. I refused to pay him unless he showed my solicitor the note."

"You think Olivia killed him?"

"No. I think her brother in law did," Erik whispered. "And now I think she's gone back into the lion's den."

* * *

In Paris nothing had changed, only the people. The current owners of the Populaire, two bumbling fools who would not know true art if it slapped them in the face, were arrogant and dismissive of him. They mocked him in low tones that he could still hear, and gawked openly at the mask.

"Messieurs Firmin and André," Erik said, rising from their tastelessly decorated office chair. "I will remember you in my future business dealings with the Opera. Or....the lack thereof."

Monsieur André leaned forward in his chair, barely able to suppress laughter. It became obvious to Erik that the two junk dealers had been over indulgent of wine, and maybe chorus girls. "What did you say your name was?" he asked, his speech slurring heavily.

"I am no one of importance," Erik assured them, leaving their office with a terrible urge to break something. They would ask soon enough why Erik de Villiers's contributions to the opera, which he had given faithfully ever since coming into his inheritance at age eighteen, suddenly ceased. He had hoped they might provide him with some information on Leverette, but he'd wasted an afternoon trying to get an audience with them, then gained nothing by sitting and listening to their drunken jesting.

He stormed out a side door and into the alley where Gregory waited with their rented hack. They had ridden the train into Paris together, and his friend had offered to go inside. Erik declined his offer. He wanted to speak to them himself, but his appearance had done more harm than good.

His solicitor had not been in his office when they arrived in Paris. Wearily, he directed Gregory to have the driver take them back there. He entered the carriage and sank back, grateful to be shielded from curious eyes. He recalled how he had tried to go in public after the accident – how they had looked at him. With or without the mask, he was a horror for them to behold. Now it was bothersome, but he was more concerned with finding Olivia. He needed to make sure she was safe. If she was with the Joliots, he would offer her sanctuary once more. Either by coming home – or by sending her far away from them. And himself.

He waited in the carriage as Gregory checked to see if the solicitor was in, relief hitting him as Gregory stepped out the door and waved him in. Monsieur Jean Picot was nearly eighty years old, but he had faithfully served his father, and Erik had kept him on because he was loyal and had a no nonsense way of doing business. He was, however, beginning to be forgetful, and it took him several minutes to find his ledger book, and another half hour to locate Erik's accounts.

"Ah, yes. I do have her address, right here. She lives on Haussmann." He squinted at the book. "Is that a two, or a three?" he muttered to himself.

"Monsieur Picot." Erik held his hand out for the book. "I am in a hurry. Give me the book."

Unoffended, the solicitor passed it to him. "I think it's a two."

"It's an eight." Erik snapped the book shut and handed it back to him. "And she was there when you delivered the funds?"

"Oh yes." Picot's bushy eyebrows raised. "Handsome woman. Feisty. Dresses a bit old fashioned for my taste, but I guess you can't have it all."

"A word of advice," he replied crisply. "I know how fond you lawyers are for keeping your money clasped tightly to your breast. Stay away from Beatrice Joliot, and her son. Unless you want to find yourself penniless, or even dead."

"Much appreciated," the solicitor replied, showing them outside.

Erik turned to him once more. "If anything happens to me, I would like my wife to receive my entire fortune. Set up a trust for her. Stipulate that in the event of her death or otherwise misfortune, it goes to the music school that is already part of the trust. I do not want anyone else to benefit from her death, or mine."

"I will have the papers drawn up and sent to my brother in Sarlat."

Erik sprinted back to the carriage with more energy than he had felt in ages. Olivia was here. He could feel it in his bones that she was here.

* * *

"She is not here. I have not seen her since we left your estate, Monsieur de Villiers."

Beatrice tried to shut her apartment door in his face, but Erik stopped her, steadily pushing it open. Gregory stepped in behind him, making sure Robert caused no trouble if he was there. "Where is Olivia?"

"She is _not_ here," she replied impatiently. She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a pointed look. "I have _guests_."

"And _I _do not care." Erik stepped through her door and shut it. He could hear the lively chatter of women coming from down the hall. Normally it would be enough to deter him, but not today. "You know something. Where is your son, then?"

Her lips pursed together tightly. "Robert is out. What do you want with him? I'll not let you hurt him again. He had to have his head stitched back together after you beat him, you know."

"Once more, I do not care." Erik leaned towards her, his voice going soft as silk. "Madame Joliot, if I do not find my wife safe and well within the next day, they are going to need more than a few stitches to repair your son. Are you understanding me? And if I were you, I would be very concerned as well. I remember the names of a few high officials, and I am sure they would be pleased to know how you have defrauded the good people of this city," he added, bluffing.

"You wouldn't dare," Beatrice hissed, glaring. "That would implicate Olivia, and I can see that you would not wish her harm. If you had simply paid Monsieur Leverette, none of this would have happened."

Erik regarded her silently for a moment, crossing his arms. "Why did you agree to allow Olivia to stay?"

"Because I knew that if she was happy, she would do anything to keep the truth from you. If Robert had not told Russell that I was receiving funds from her, there would not have been a problem." Looking irritated, she glanced over her shoulder to be sure her friends were not looking in. "Russell is dead now. Just leave us in peace, Monsieur, and I will not contact you again."

"And Olivia?"

"Olivia knows her place!" she snapped. "She belongs here. And when she comes home, she will do as I say."

Erik stepped close to her. "Her penance for Charles?" he asked mockingly. "Poor pitiful Charles?"

"My son was killed because she made him weak!"

"Your son was shot in the back," Erik replied, his eyes narrowed, "by your other son. And now Monsieur Leverette. When I get my hands on him, he'd better hope that Olivia, wherever she is, has not one hair out of place, or one inch of her skin damaged. He will wish that he were dead."

Erik had the satisfaction of seeing Beatrice's face pale.

"Robert is a good boy," she whispered. "He is all that I have left."

"He is a murderer, Madame. A man who will shoot his own brother will do the same to you." He glanced around the apartment. He did not trust this woman, and if there was the slightest chance she could be hiding Olivia, he was not going to miss it. "I am going to look for my wife in there, and anywhere else I please, and then I am going to leave. You are not going to protest. If you do, I will tell them you are a criminal, and that you are harboring a dangerous man."

Gregory searched the living areas while Erik looked in the bedrooms. There was one very large and feminine room, obviously her room. The second was Robert's. The third was large in size, but the furniture was spartan - a bed made from rusting iron, ramshackle dresser, no nightstands, not even a curtain, just a sheet draped across the window. There was a small child's doll propped against the pillows, the only personal thing in the room other than some clothing and the same perfumes and lotions that she had left behind at the manor.

"I don't think she's been here, Erik," Gregory said, bringing Beatrice into the room by the arm.

"Monsieur, please hurry. I really must return to my guests."

"These are her things," Erik stated. "I want them. Now."

Beatrice shot him an irritated look, but left with Gregory at her heels, returning with a large valise. He watched as she hurriedly gathered everything and threw it inside, not in any particular order, and with no regard to whether she tore anything or not. He took the doll from the bed. Her name was stitched onto the bottom of the white dress in neat red letters. It looked very old, and he wondered if she had made it as a child, or if her mother had done it. He placed it very gently atop the dresses and closed the lid.

"Tell your son that I am looking for him," Erik said, handing the bag to Gregory. "If I were you, Madame, I would keep one eye open where he is concerned. And he should be looking over his shoulder, if he's hurt my wife."

"Stay away from my son, Monsieur de Villiers," Beatrice said as she held the door open. "It seems clear to me that you have a great deal to lose."

"Answer me this, Madame. Does punishing my wife matter so much to you that you would risk your own life? Your son's? If either of you have a brain in your head, you will disappear. Two dead thieves do not matter so much to me, so in the interest of self preservation, I will delay reporting to the gendarmes my suspicions. If you are not here when they come to call, well, then I suppose it will be their loss."

He turned without another word, smiling in satisfaction as she huffed and slammed the door behind them. Each step away from there brought the knowledge that it had been a dead end, and there was nothing else he could do but wait and hope that Olivia would come home or write to him.

"Are we going to a hotel?" Gregory asked.

"You are going to report them to the gendarmes. Then you may go to my mother's townhouse. It should be vacant."

He watched as Gregory placed the valise on the back of the carriage, then handed him the keys to the townhouse. It was growing dark, and the opera was only a few blocks away. He had not been in Paris in a very long time, and there was nothing he could do for Olivia except make sure Robert and Beatrice were locked away. He wanted to visit the place where his marriage to Christine had ended.

"And tonight?" Gregory asked.

"I am going to the Populaire. If you need me - I shall be on the roof."

* * *

Erik stepped out onto the roof, his footsteps leaving tracks on the snow. The sun was just beginning to set, and he leaned against the edge, taking in his favorite city. Christine had loved it up here, especially at night when the street lights were all aglow. She had taken her lover here, and Erik had come upon them in a tight embrace as she wept in his arms. It had hurt so badly that he had sunk into the shadows, unable to speak or even believe what he was seeing. Her understudy had told him that Christine was here - waiting for him. He often wondered if Carlotta had gotten what she wanted.

It had taken three days for him to summon the courage to speak to Christine. She had denied everything, not knowing that he had been there, and after that, he had not believed a word from her lips. He wondered if Olivia had found a man to comfort her, to keep her safe, to touch her the way he wanted to again. He closed his eyes, wondering which wife tormented him more. The one who was dead, or the one who had left him.

"Where are you, Olivia?" he whispered into the night.

Erik stayed until the sun was gone, and until he grew too cold to stand it any longer. There was no opera tonight, but he was sure there would be rehearsals, and he did not wish to see anyone. He was going to open the door when it began to swing open, and he stopped in surprise. The Vicomte de Chagny was standing there, his face barely visible in the moonlight reflecting off the snow. It seemed as if a switch had been flipped, and anger began its violent simmer. Was the boy really so dense? And to come here, of all places!

"I am not here to fight." Raoul held his hands up in surrender. "I wanted to speak to you. Gregory said that you would be here."

"Why are you in Paris?" he asked, not hiding his annoyance.

"Emma is worried that you might find yourself in trouble," Raoul replied, moving away from him uneasily. "She is concerned about these people you are dealing with. And she is worried about Olivia."

"Did my sister send you here in hopes of another bout of redemption?" Erik moved past de Chagny to the door. "The only thing you'll find here is a flying lesson, Monsieur, and you do not look much like a bird to me."

"I can help with Olivia's relatives," Raoul said quickly.

Erik turned, regarded him with expressionless eyes. "I will manage them. Stop poking you aristocratic nose where it does not belong."

"Even if I can guarantee that within an hour gendarmes will be swarming the streets, looking for Beatrice and Robert Joliot? Monsieur Legnon informed me that the police did not so much as write down their address when he reported the murders. They have more important things to do than catch a thief who murders his own kind. No one will miss them. And why should they?"

"Murder is murder."

"And do you understand how many people it happens to every day? Good, honest people, whose families love them and mourn them? They are not interested in someone as unliked as Russell Leverette. Half of the high officials either owe him money, or a favor. My father's youngest brother is a commissioner. He will make sure that justice is carried out – not for the sake of the men who were killed – but to remove a dangerous man from the city's streets."

"In return for what?" Erik asked cautiously.

"I am not asking you for anything," Raoul replied, but Erik could see in his eyes that there was something. And perhaps, for Olivia, he might grant it, if it was something very small. But he was not going to do de Chagny any favors tonight.

"For my wife's safety, you can encourage your uncle to look for Robert," Erik said reluctantly. "Nothing more."

Raoul inclined his head slightly, looking as if he might say something more, but then he turned away and suddenly became intrigued by the sculptures on the roof. Sensing his chance, Erik quietly left the roof.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

After three days, there was no news of Olivia, and Robert had disappeared completely. The gendarmes had not arrested Beatrice, but they had questioned her sternly. Twice a day a messenger arrived from de Chagny's uncle, giving a report of anyone who might have seen the fugitive, but it was obvious that Joliot was more resourceful than he'd given him credit for. Erik remained in his father's study, mostly unchanged since his death, during the day. Emma and Raoul had offered to find other accommodations, but the child was running a fever, and Erik wasn't heartless enough to kick them out. In the end, Raoul did leave and stay with his family, whom he rarely saw. Emma and Alexi stayed at the house with Erik, out of his way, but not often quiet.

The child was in pain, screaming at the top of her lungs during the night, and she could be heard throughout the entire house. It was snowing again outside when Erik went into her nursery and met a weary Emma and a distrustful nanny. Alexi was growing hoarse, but was not yet tiring.

"Her ears," was all Emma said, patting the child on the back. "Mother says I was the same way."

"Where is her doctor?"

"He said there is nothing more he can do. I hate to give her that medicine. She becomes unresponsive." Emma rested her cheek against the curve of her daughter's head. "I'm sorry. She won't stop crying."

Erik knelt down by Emma's chair and touched Alexi's face gingerly. "She's feverish."

The nanny dipped the cloth into a basin and wrung it out, handing it to Emma. She turned Alexi around to face Erik, and held the cloth against her forehead. The child's eyes widened as she saw Erik, and immediately she stopped crying.

He said nothing, expecting her next screams to be even more shrill and filled with fear, but the girl just stared at him.

"She likes you," Emma said, smiling.

Erik held out his hand, and Alexi grasped it, bringing it to her mouth and biting down – hard.

"Damn!" he muttered, retracting his hand. He could see the impression of a small tooth on his fingertip. "Are you very sure she is a child, and not a cat? She bit me."

Emma ran her finger into Alexi's mouth and along her gums. "Of course. It must not be her ears, but her teeth again. She has another."

"You want the ring, my lady?" The nanny asked.

"Yes, bring it. And then you may take yourself off to bed, there is no sense in both of us being exhausted tomorrow."

Erik smiled at Emma. "My lady? I remember a girl with skinned knees and a penchant for bringing frogs to dinner parties."

His sister raised her brow. "The advantage of being the wife of a Vicomte, even if he is a discredited one."

Erik looked down at Alexi, offered his finger again but did not allow it to be drawn into her mouth. She was smacking her gums together, as if she wanted another taste.

"You are happy with him, Emma?" Erik asked softly. "Truly?"

"He is very dear to me. I love him. I have _always_ loved him." Emma touched Erik's cheek briefly. "And I do love you, brother, which I hope you have always known. I am sorry for everything though. I did not help matters very much, did I?"

"Our hearts do not see as clearly as our minds. It's alright Emma. I wish with all of my heart that it was not him – that I had a singular reason to hate him besides my own very personal reasons – but I will not keep blaming you for falling in love." Erik glanced up at her. "You can't ask me to forgive him and forget what happened. Even if he does not remember, _I_ do. And so do you."

"That is all that I should have ever asked for," she whispered.

The nanny brought Alexi a teething ring, and they both watched with amusement as she sucked on it greedily, making sounds of hunger and excitement. She was asleep within a few minutes, and Emma allowed Erik to take her and put her in the crib. He did not hold her for long – she was small and felt so fragile against him – but it was long enough to put that curious ache back in his throat.

"This is another reason you should find Olivia," Emma said suddenly.

"To have more children?" Erik shook his head slightly. "She is not a broodmare. And I am not sure-"

"She could have already conceived," she interrupted gently. "What then? How long has she been gone?"

"Two months," he replied, feeling strangely light, "almost three now. She wouldn't dare keep that from me."

"If she is, then she would do whatever was necessary to protect the child - and herself. If she thinks you are angry with her, or that you might take the child away because of her past, then yes, she would keep it from you." Emma touched his shoulder, making him look at her. "Think, Erik. There has to be somewhere she mentioned. Someplace she always wanted to see. Somewhere she would feel safe. Where did she grow up?"

"Saint Cernin."

And as soon as he said it, he knew that he would find her there.

* * *

Olivia held her cards close, withholding the smile that was deep inside. She was mentally counting cards, but she did not try to cheat. Charles had taught her how, but she only liked the idea of knowing what her opponents had in their hands, rather than actually using the knowledge to her advantage.

Besides, what fun was it to cheat against a group of slightly tipsy school teachers?

"A full house," Madame Lorre said triumphantly.

Several groans went up, and a couple of twitters.

Olivia laid her cards face down on the table, and swept her four of a kind into the deck. It wasn't so much the winning that intrigued her to play poker, but the company. Since returning home she had gone through a gamut of emotions, from joyful to bittersweet. Her Aunt Coraline had converted the inn into a temporary boarding house for the local girls' finishing school. Theirs had burned down over a year ago, and the school had not been able to immediately rebuild. It suited Olivia perfectly, because she had not particularly wanted to deal with the public in general. In the meantime the inn would serve as the girls' home, and the church would be used as their school.

Though the inn was seldom quiet, Madame Berne had taken the girls out into the countryside for a lesson in nature. What those giggling children could hope to learn in the snow was beyond her, but Olivia was simply glad to have this time with her Aunt and the other women. She had forgotten how nice it could be to sit around the dining room table with friends - as if she'd ever had any before she married Charles. Her father had never liked her to have idle hands, she had always been working, helping her mother in the kitchen or cleaning rooms. By the time Charles had come along, she had been all to eager to forsake those duties and have a romantic tryst. What she would give to have that time back. She felt guilt for the first time when she walked into the kitchen and realized how much work she had left for her mother – how much grief for both of them.

Her parents had hired a local girl to take up the slack after she had left, and the woman was now managing the kitchens with three helpers. Aunt Cora seldom did anything more than the books and play poker with the teachers, who were now well into their second bottle of wine.

"Deal them!" Aunt Cora chortled. "Come girl, stop your daydreaming and shuffle!"

Olivia dealt the cards again, listening to the women chattering about the girls and school. Only a few of them remained through the winter break, the ones whose families were either too far away or did not care enough to come and get them. Many of the teachers had left as well, and Olivia had been brought in as their fifth at the table while Madame Berne was out with the children.

She had not told Aunt Cora much of her time away, and the woman had not really asked, nor had she judged.

"I was once young," Aunt Cora had said with a slight smile. "I was even married. Not for long, mind you. It was enough for me to realize that I was not the sort of woman to be domesticated."

Olivia had told her little about Erik, only that he built instruments, and that she had married him to get away from the Joliots.

She did not tell her that she had lied to him, or that she had stolen from him.

She certainly did not say that she loved him, or that she missed him.

The silence and surreptitious glances around the table were interrupted as Madame Berne came through the door, followed by six girls stomping snow off their shoes. "You girls go upstairs to your rooms and stop your gossiping," she scolded, ushering them out of the room and taking their coats. She grumbled beneath her breath as she hung them all up, something about needing a holiday from adolescents.

"Ara come join us," Madame Lorre called out. "I'm about to win this hand as well! Too bad we are only playing for buttons, and not for money, or I would be a rich woman!"

"I'm in no mood for strategizing," Madame Berne replied, still looking cross. "I am cold and irritated beyond measure with those foolish girls. Two of them tried to slide down the embankment near the stream on a piece of rusted tin! They nearly went into the water, and they were very fortunate that they hit a tree instead!"

The table erupted in laughter, and Madame Berne, noticing the bottles of wine, could not help but grin as well. She helped herself to a glass but did not join them, instead regaling them with the adventures of the past two hours in which she had had half a dozen fits in dealing with the girls' antics.

"But I cannot say that I blame them for getting into mischief," Aunt Cora said, looking rather wistful. "Not having children of my own, I cannot understand why their parents would choose to leave them here during Christmas, instead of sharing it with family." Olivia's eyes swelled with tears as her aunt took her had beneath the table. "This year was very special for me. My darling Olivia came home, and I am so much happier for it."

Olivia smiled, trying to loosen the knot in her throat. Yes, it had been a nice, wonderful Christmas, she admitted. It would have been perfect if she had not messed things up so badly with Erik, and he had been there to share it with her.

"Special, indeed," Olivia whispered, squeezing back.

She had been surprised to receive a wealth of gifts from her aunt, including one she had not expected at all – her inheritance. She had not even known her parents had left her anything, but they had died rather suddenly, and it had all gone to her - her father's half shared interest in the inn, and the money her parents had saved over the years. She had made her aunt promise not to tell anyone about the inheritance. She did not want to take any chances that the Joliots might find out, even though she knew they would not look for her here. She was not even sure if they remembered where she had come from. It was no great fortune, but she could live very comfortably from it, and would always have the income from the boarding house.

Olivia was jerked from her daydreaming when three of the teachers rose with such violence that their chairs tilted backwards and crashed to the floor.

"Did you see that man?" Madame Lorre suddenly demanded. "There was a man in here, just now. Did you see him, Ara?"

"I saw him," Madame Berne replied. "Where did he go? And what was that..."

They were all staring into the hall, which had a direct view of the front door. Olivia had heard it open and shut, but had not been paying attention to who had come or gone. For a moment she wondered exactly how much wine they had consumed, but they all looked very serious and very concerned. Men were not ever allowed inside the boarding house.

"It was a mask," Aunt Cora said, standing up suddenly. "He was wearing a white mask."

Olivia turned sharply towards her aunt. "A mask?"

Aunt Cora nodded, looking bewildered, and the slightest bit concerned. "I've never....why, what could...."

"And he just came in here, then left?" Olivia asked, coming out of her chair quickly. She rushed to the window, but the snow was coming down harder, and she couldn't make out a thing. Her heart felt as if had turned itself upside down and wrong side out. Ignoring the concerned calls of the other women, she rushed outside into the blinding white day, and she could see her husband getting into a well fashioned black carriage.

"Erik," she whispered, her voice barely coming out. The carriage lurched forward suddenly, and his name did not come out so quietly the second time.

_"Erik!"_

_

* * *

  
_

"Do you want me to tell him stop?" Gregory asked, staring out the window. "She saw you, you know."

Erik pulled a face. He had taken one look at her sitting with all of those women, looking completely happy, and he had not wanted to even speak to her. Anger had driven him back outside into the cold, and he had not really felt like facing her after such a long uncomfortable journey. He was irritated after the train ride from Paris, and even more irritated that there were hardly any inns along the way to Saint Cernin. Now that he knew she was safe, and the relief at seeing her so washed over him, in its place crawled back that memory of lies, and how she had left him without a word. Doubt whispered a song to him that he did not wish to hear.

"Stop the carriage!" Gregory suddenly called out, banging his fist against the roof, deciding for him. They were well out of the drive to the inn. "Drive back around, would you?"

Erik glared at him. "I did not say anything, did I?"

"Well you can't just leave her standing there."

_'She left me_', he almost replied.

The horses seemed to take an intermittently slow amount of time to circle the driveway and go back to the inn. Gregory jumped out before the carriage even stopped moving, and Erik glanced out at his wife, then looked away before their eyes met.

"Madame, you look well," Gregory said to her.

She murmured some reply, standing near the door uncertainly.

"Come into the carriage, I'll not be getting out again," he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

He watched Gregory offer his hand, and she climbed inside. His gaze took her in all at once. Her dark brown, red in certain light hair was pulled away from her face with a severity that he'd never seen before. She was dressed in a dark blue gown that made her eyes seem deeper than night. She was not wearing a coat, and her teeth slightly chattered as she sat down across from him.

Without asking she took a blanket that was lying on the seat, and pulled it around herself.

"I'll just go in and have some ale then," Gregory said.

Olivia turned towards him, calling out before he left. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, but you can't go inside. This is a boarding school for girls."

"Ah. Well, then I will find something...something..." He continued walking, never finishing what he was going to say.

The silence stretched between them so long, with neither of them looking at the other, that Erik dearly wished he had not come at all. He cleared his throat several times, feeling foolish and vindictive, without really caring why.

"Quite a trick," he finally said.

"You are still angry," Olivia whispered, meeting his gaze briefly. "And not that I could blame you. It seems that an apology is not sufficient, so I will not offer another."

"I did not come to quarrel. I came to give you some news," Erik said quietly. "To make sure that you had not come to any harm by your brother in law Robert's foul misdeeds. You might as well know that Monsieur Leverette is dead, and at Robert's hand. It is my belief that he murdered your first husband as well."

She reacted slowly, her eyes seeming to take forever to adjust from the shock of seeing him, to the blow he had just dealt her. She looked at him fully, her mouth hardening.

"Robert?"

"I am sorry," he murmured, staring out the window. It really was snowing quite hard. There was no other inn for miles, and he was feeling a desperate need to be away from her so he could simply react to seeing her again. But he could not show her. She had looked unbearably happy sitting there. She had found peace and contentment living, apparently, at a boarding school with a group of girls, and he was abjectly miserable without her.

It had never seemed more clear to him that she was never his. She never would be. Despite everything they had shared, she was a stranger go him.

A stranger whom he loved with all of his broken heart.

"He murdered Charles?" she asked softly, more to herself. "All this time. I lived with him...I put up with him....._all of this time?"_

"The gendarmes are looking for him," Erik assured her. "He will be caught, and he will go to trial."

She shook her head. "Nothing touches him. It just...." she waved her hands, "rolls away."

He wanted to comfort her, but she began to look more angry than sad. He kept to himself, watching her for a moment, wondering what other secrets she might have. Any new ones, over the last two months?

"I brought some of your things," he said at last. "Clothes, personal effects. It's tied on top."

Olivia met his eyes. For a moment there was something in her expression that almost made him take her hand, but then it was gone, locked inside of her once more. Would he ever really know what he had meant to her? Was it nothing at all? He dared not contemplate it for long. He would rather remember those months with her for what they had meant to him.

"Thank you," she replied, her tone neutral. She looked quite suddenly ill. "If you will excuse me."

She vaulted out of the carriage and across the yard, then he heard retching. He climbed out after her, finding her with one hand braced against the stone fence, half hidden behind some evergreens.

_Was this morning sickness?_

He recalled with suddenness his last conversation with Emma.

_She could have already conceived._

_

* * *

  
_

He was very kind to her after she tossed up her accounts, offering her an ever present linen, but being careful not to touch her. He looked at her strangely, his expression anxious. Aunt Coraline came out of the inn, bringing her cloak and a gentle scolding for going outside without one.

"And not even a glove or a scarf, you foolish child. You're going to catch your death out here."

"She just received some unfortunate news," Erik said, stepping back away from them.

"Who are you?" Aunt Cora suddenly demanded.

"I am Erik de Villiers, ma'am," he replied, as if she ought to know who he was already.

And Olivia suspected that her Aunt Cora knew exactly who he was, but she gave away nothing, eying Erik shrewdly.

"Is this the husband?"

"Aunt Cora, please," Olivia whispered, pressing her hand over her mouth. "Just give us a moment."

"Not out here, I'm not. You're going inside out of this cold, young lady." She glanced at Erik, and waved him towards the inn. "You as well. It's best to get this settled before a warm fire."

"I was under the impression, ma'am, that a man could not enter the inn because it is a school?"

"An exception will be granted in this instance," Aunt Cora declared. "As co – owner of this establishment, I have the authority to make them, and so shall it be!"

Olivia couldn't help but smile weakly. Her aunt had always tended to be a bit dramatic. "We will go into the apartment. Aunt Cora, why don't you go inform the teachers so they are not concerned."

Her aunt gave her a look.

"Erik is my husband. He will not hurt me."

She glanced at him as she said it, and noticed he looked a little offended. Perhaps because her voice had not sounded as certain as she had meant it to.

Perhaps because she was not quite certain he wouldn't strike her, or even shake her, just a little. He was still so very angry with her.

"He will not," she said again, looking at him meaningfully.

"No," he replied quietly. "I hope that I never have."

Olivia's heart tripped at the sincere quality of his voice. She took her aunt by the shoulders and led her towards the inn, glancing over her shoulder at Erik.

"Will you come inside?" she asked softly, all of her wanting him to say yes, and fearing it all the same. She was not prepared to face him right now, and the news about Charles had upset her terribly. Added to that, it was apparent the sole purpose of his visit seemed to be delivering that news, and her things. He must want her out of his life completely. Why had he not just thrown it all away?

Her knees nearly buckled with relief as he agreed to follow her.

She parted with her aunt at the entrance to the inn, taking Erik around to the courtyard and up the stairs that led directly to the apartment she shared with her. She was uncomfortably aware of him behind her, and even more so as they entered the small apartment, decorated now in her aunt's wild taste, rather than the modest touch her mother had once given it.

"Give me just a minute," she said, darting towards the small washroom she shared with her aunt. "Make yourself comfortable, please." Behind the closed door she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but it did little good. The man she had been dreaming of and longing for was suddenly here, and it was very clear to her that he did not intend to stay. She had hurt him too badly.

She poured water into the basin and wet a clean cloth, pressing it against her face for several moments. She rinsed out her mouth and firmly locked away her tears, knowing they would come freely much later. He was staring out the window at the courtyard as she came back into the living area.

"My aunt took over the inn after my parents died. She and my father owned it together." She told him about the school burning down, and how Aunt Cora had turned it into the boarding school and closed the doors to the public. He listened quietly, his eyes roving around the room slowly.

"You grew up here," he stated, his gaze finally resting on her.

"Yes."

For a long time she looked at him. She had forgotten how tall he was. How broad his shoulders were. He looked rather haggard, his face unshaven, his eyes red rimmed and clothes rumpled. He was still utterly appealing to her, and so familiar.

"Your aunt welcomed you home, it seems. You must be pleased," Erik said, "and so must she."

"Yes," she said again, uncertainty flooding her. He had obviously not come to reconcile things with her. Why had she invited him? It hurt to even look at him and not touch, not kiss. She saw how deeply she had hurt him, how far he had retreated back behind that wall. It seemed impenetrable now. And she did not know if she even wanted to try and breach it again. Or if she could.

"I am sorry that I gave you that news with such....insensitivity. I wasn't quite sure how."

She wondered for a moment if he had even meant to at all. He'd obviously been intent on leaving without ever saying a word to her. It had not been his voice that called for the carriage to stop.

"There can't possibly be a good way to give that sort of shock," Olivia murmured. "Robert was always jealous of his brother. He is mean spirited."

Self consciously she touched the scar above her eyebrow, flushing as his eyes followed the movement. How vain he must think her.

"He cannot hide forever. Eventually even a worm reaches the light of day," Erik said, leaning down to examine a miniature of her parents. He picked it up and studied it, then set it down and moved to the next. His lips tightened, and she saw it was the silver framed one of her and Charles, done a few months after they had been married. She had sent it to her parents because she had been homesick, and she had wanted them to forgive her.

Forgiveness that had never come.

He set the portrait down, and did not pick up any more.

"Gregory must be freezing by now," he said, pulling his gloves from his coat. He did not look at her. "It is a long drive back to Sarlat."

"Of course." Her throat and chest began to ache.

"I....ah.....I must ask a rather indelicate question. Emma brought to my attention that perhaps you and I...that you might be....well... That you could be expecting."

If anything, she ached more. Her courses had been annoyingly regular, and a week after she had left him was no exception. She could not recall a more disappointing moment in her entire life. "I am not," she whispered, mortified. "If it would please you, then you may have your solicitor send the annulment papers."

"Annulment?" he asked, his jaw tightening visibly.

"Obviously I married you under false pretenses. If you prefer divorce, as the husband, it is only yours to give. I had rather hoped not to be a divorced woman." She looked at him, feeling as if she would never be whole again. Her heart ached for him. Her body, even now, longed to be molded against his body in passion, or even slumber. She would always love him, and how she had thought distance would tame her feelings for him, she would never know.

She turned away, occupying herself with a flower arrangement that did not need rearranging. Tears were very near the verge of spilling forth, and the little control she had on her emotions was slipping quickly away. She wished he would come to her, and tell her that to be unmarried to her was the last thing that he wanted. It was certainly the last thing that she wanted. But she had no right to ask it of him, after what she had done. And she very much feared asking him, knowing what his answer would be.

"Does Robert know where you are from?" he asked suddenly.

She turned her head slightly. "I am not sure. Why do you ask me that?"

"Despite what happened, I do not wish to see you harmed. If you would feel safer at the estate, you are welcome to come home." And just when it seemed as if there might be a little light left in the world, he had to speak again. "You will remember that there are several cottages that are habitable."

Olivia drew a deep breath, rounding on him, feeling very suddenly angry. "Thank you for the kind offer, _Monsieur,_ but I must decline. I have made enough mistakes recently. I would prefer to remain here."

_Where I am wanted. Where I am loved._

He inclined his head, looking rather angry himself.

"This is goodbye then," he said, stepping towards the door.

Her hands clenched together tightly. His green eyes held hers for what seemed an endless moment. She could not bring herself to return the farewell.

Without saying anything else, he walked out the door, slamming it behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Erik arrived at the front of the inn just in time to see the carriage leaving, and Gregory standing in the driveway, whistling to himself. Their luggage was stacked neatly on the ground. Gregory turned, surprise registering on his expression, the whistle dying off ever so slowly. With a shamefaced look in his eyes, he glanced back towards the inn.

"Tell me you did not dismiss the driver," Erik said beneath his breath.

"Right. Well, I wish I could tell you that." Gregory backed away from him, looking a bit panicked. "You went upstairs with her. I thought that meant....well. I did not think you would be back so....soon."

"Perhaps next time you might _ask_." Erik stared down the drive, humiliation burning in his gut. She had just asked for an annulment, and now it seemed apparent that he was without a way to leave. He gave Gregory a furious glare when Olivia's aunt rushed out the front door of the inn, and two or three other women peered out after her. "I suggest you find us another driver quickly."

"You're staying," she said cheerfully. "How wonderful. And I have discussed it with the teachers, and they see no reason why Olivia's husband should not stay here with her, in the apartment of course. It does not connect directly to the inn, you see, so-"

"We are not staying, Madame," Erik interrupted quickly, before she could embarrass him further. "There was a misunderstanding with my steward. He is going to find us a new driver-"

"Nonsense," she said, giving Gregory a once over. "It's nearly time for dinner, and dark to boot! This boy looks absolutely exhausted, and I insist that you both go upstairs and allow me to have the kitchen send up a warm meal."

Erik stared at her, his jaw sticking out in anger. "Your niece and I have agreed to amicably part ways. I do not think it would be wise for me to stay."

The woman's brow lifted in surprise. "Olivia and I will room at the inn for the night," she said, unyielding. "In the morning our driver can take you to the train station in Bergerac."

"And he cannot take us tonight?" Erik demanded.

"He is old, and he cannot see to drive at night," she said insistently. "I will inform Olivia of the arrangement."

Before Erik could protest, she swept around the side of the inn, out of sight. Gregory gave him an apologetic look, and handed him one of the larger trunks, which was Olivia's.

"A warm bed certainly sounds appealing," Gregory said, picking up the other two traveling cases. "If you're going to cuff me, I prefer to do it now and be done with it."

"Don't tempt me, Legnon," Erik muttered, carrying the case around to the stairs, then up them. Her aunt admitted them into the apartment, and he glanced around it quickly, not seeing Olivia. The door to the washroom was closed once more.

"You will stay in this room, Monsieur de Villiers," her aunt directed, predictably, into Olivia's bedroom.

He knew immediately by the scent, and the plethora of girlhood trinkets lining the shelves, that it was Olivia's. He set her trunk down near the window, then retrieved his from the living area where Gregory had set it down. Her aunt was showing Gregory the other bedroom, going on about how noisy the schoolgirls could be at night.

The door to the washroom suddenly opened, and Olivia stepped out. She'd been crying, he could tell immediately. For her dear husband? He wished he had been gentler in telling her about Robert, but he was unskilled in such matters. He had intended to write her from Sarlat, telling her everything and wishing her well. He had not had much chance to think about what he was doing when he'd attempted to leave without speaking to her. He imagined that he would not have told her that he had in fact found her – or that he had gone to Paris and searched half of it trying to find her.

He decided then that he would not tell her anything else, even if the opportunity arose. Most likely he would be gone by morning, and would never see her again. The knowledge of it was perfectly awful – even worse than before, when he'd left this room earlier and had intended to be half way to the train station, only to find that he would have to face her yet again.

"I need some things from my room," she whispered, moving past him without meeting his eyes. He watched her hurriedly snatch things from various drawers, balling everything up into a soft brown velvet dress. She swept past him and out of the apartment quickly, almost at a run, and he was glad for it. He had not wanted to have this awkwardness between them, and he had not wanted to see her again - not after she asked for the annulment, not after she refused to come back to the estate. He had only meant to offer her protection. She must have assumed he'd wanted her as a mistress. And perhaps if she had accepted, he might have gone to her, to see if she was willing. If he could not have her as a wife....well.

Even as he thought it, he knew it was not what he wanted. He did not want a mistress. He certainly did not want Olivia in that role. He wanted her, exactly as they had once been. But she did not, so he would simply leave in the morning, and never see her again.

* * *

Her aunt's very loud snoring kept her awake for hours. The inn had plenty of vacant rooms, but she had not felt very much like being alone. Now she wished that she had taken one of them. The other women had pressed her about Erik's mask, and she had told them very basically that he had lost his wife and son in a fire, and that he was a very good and brave man. Then she'd burst into tears, and listened to each offer sage, spinster advice about how she ought to reconcile with him. It was obvious, to them, that she was in love. Why, they'd seen her moping about long enough. And she was a saint, in their eyes, for looking beyond that poor unfortunate man's scars and seeing he was just a man like any other.

Her aunt had kept silent, but Olivia had known by looking in her eyes that she thought the same things. Olivia said nothing about her reasons for leaving Erik. It was too shameful, and she did not want them to know they were living with a thief and a liar. She would always have to hide that part of herself – that dark past. And she would keep secret Charles, and the way he had died. It made her ill to think about all that she had done, and how very deep into the nest of vipers she had descended.

A little past midnight, she heard footsteps in the room above. She was directly below the apartment's small kitchen. She wondered if it was Gregory or Erik moving about, and she continued to wonder, until curiosity erased any thought she might have had of ever sleeping. She dressed quietly, her stockinged feet silent on the thick rugs. The entire inn was eerily silent. She had never been here at night before, not even as a child. She had not been permitted to wander it alone, her father had been insistent on it.

And her aunt had not been entirely truthful with Erik, or the other teachers. There was a direct passage into the apartment. The inn's second level was bisected, half of it more rooms, half of it her family's living quarters. Her father had said the only reason to ever use it was in case of an emergency, such as a fire. He did not want anyone knowing about the entrance but his family. Olivia crept up the staircase to the second floor, and slipped into the storage room, using her master key. She locked the door behind her and let her hands guide her in the darkness to the spring paneled door that led to a small hallway, which led to the living room in the apartment. She stood in the passageway, her breathing abnormally loud, at least to herself, and having no idea why she had come this far. There was light shining beneath the door to the apartment, and she knew that just on the other side, her husband would be awake, not Gregory. She also knew that if she went to him, he would not turn her body away. Only her heart. She sank against the wall, feeling tears build inside of her. It was unbearable to think of never touching him again.

Building her courage, she pushed on the door to the apartment, which also had springs. It was not as silent as the first, and he was already turned in her father's old chair, watching with disbelief in his eyes as she came through the hidden wall. He stood, hurriedly stuffing something down into the cushion on the chair.

He stared at her for what seemed a lifetime before he took a large stride towards her and grasped her behind the neck, bringing her lips to his long before the rest of him ever reached her. He wasn't gentle, but it did not matter. The aggressiveness was exactly what she needed to drive away the tears she'd been very close to shedding. She returned it with fervor, knowing it wouldn't change his leaving, that this was not a romantic reunion, but something possessive and primal that they both wanted. They didn't speak, just touched, her eagerness and need combined with his anger, sparking that flame even further. His hand caressed her breast roughly through the dress, then was plunging down the neckline, and she mewled against his mouth. The dress began to rip against his searching hand. It was the sound that made him take her by the wrist and lead her to the bedroom. It was dark, but he had no trouble finding the buttons of her gown, his hands passionately roving around her body as he drew her back against him. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he planted passionate kisses down her neck, then up to her ear, and down again. He suckled the warm flesh into his mouth, and she knew it would cause a bruise to arise. It thrilled her unexpectedly that he would leave something of himself behind. His mark left on her. His brand. She turned to face him, and he brought her mouth up to his again, his hand going behind her neck again, holding her there for his pleasure.

Erik's free hand came up to touch her face, drawing her lower lip down with the pad of his thumb. He hissed as she nipped the end of it with her teeth. He replaced it with his mouth, his tongue stroking and enthusiastically plundering against hers. Unthinkingly she reached up to cup his face, gentleness behind the gesture. He had shaved, his jaw feeling smooth and cool against the warmth of her hand. Erik pushed her away, as he had often done when they first began to make love. The gesture seemed to shout that she had lost the privilege to touch him that way. She didn't stop him, though, from his continued quest. His shirt came free, then her dress, and the rest of their clothes. He was driven by anger, and she could feel it pulsating inside of him. It continued until they were stretched out on the bed, his hands nudging her legs aside. She feared and craved the moment when he came into her, and he stopped himself just before, his arms shaking as he struggled for control.

He didn't say it, but she knew then, that Erik would never hurt her, not intentionally. As angry as he was, it was not in his nature to demean or control, to punish. Her hands slid down his back, skimming across those familiar scars on his side. She reached with one hand between them, and grasped him firmly, and encouraged him to where she needed him most. He trembled against her, the rest of his body lowering onto hers, and she welcomed the remembered weight of him. He didn't kiss her mouth again, but set his jaw against her shoulder and moved into her, his breath exploding against her skin as her inner muscles clenched around him. Her legs lifted and locked around him, and she gripped his back with the tips of her fingers, careful not to dig her nails in. He had not appreciated it once before, and she knew that his skin could still be very sensitive where he had been burned, and even in some places where he had not.

Impatiently, frenetically, they coupled. And at this pace, they knew it would not last forever. She felt him slow, but it only increased her need for him.

"Please," she whispered against his ear.

The first word spoken since she had come to him. She could not bring herself to ask for more, but he understood, and he obeyed without question. He resumed, his breath quickening as he turned his face against her neck, his lips searching the soft skin, one hand cupping her breast and the other sliding into her hair and pulling at it slightly. She had not known it could be like this, not with him, not with any man. There was no emotion here, just sex, and it was not unpleasant – no, not at all. She might regret later the lack of tenderness in his touch, or that she'd wanted something different for their last time. But then again, she had not expected this opportunity. She briefly considered taking his offer of returning to the cottage. She'd have at least a warm body at night.

She could be his whore, and forget all about being his wife.

He was close, and she could sense it coming for him. He always held his breath, his hands would often find hers and he would lace their fingers together. His entire body would tighten, and the last desperate movements would be stilted. She did not expect him to take her hand this time. It was a greater intimacy than she thought he would give, but he surprised her at that last moment, gripping her tightly. He tried to withdraw, not giving her his seed, but she forced him to stay with her, her palm spread flat on his lower back. It was the most beautiful and pleasurable sensation, his body giving to hers, giving life. Except that she had begun to suspect that no life would ever take root in her body. She had been loved, and remained barren, for far too long.

He kissed her again, open mouthed, then withdrew from her body. He'd left her unsatisfied, but it did not seem so important given the scope of things. Still, she ached from being left unfulfilled. Erik rolled away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She listened to him catch his breath, one of his hands pulling the end of the coverlet around his waist. It was as terrible as she expected it would be, to see him withdraw from her so completely, with her body wanting to draw him back, even if he just held her.

Tears stung her already raw eyes, and she sat and swung her legs over the bed, facing the other direction.

"You will write to me if there is need," he said, his quiet, steady voice a shock given the passion they had just shared. "I want to know if there is a child."

"Your concern is overwhelming," Olivia replied bitingly.

Erik was silent for a moment, then she heard a quiet scoff. "Perhaps you do not understand how much I do care."

She took that to mean that he did want children, and it hurt all the more, because she'd begun to want them as well. He lit the lamp beside her bed, keeping it dim as he reached for his clothes. He jerked them on, his ire obviously returned. "If there is, our differences aside, we will raise it as a family."

"To ease your conscience, Erik, I no longer believe myself capable of conception," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "And I am quite satisfied with my life here, thank you."

"You have made that abundantly clear to me."

She rounded on him, eyes flashing. "I have little choice but to make the best of things. I am nothing. I have no talent aside from what I know, and it is dishonest work that I refuse to take up again. _Look_ where it has gotten me. I have lost _everything_. I will not apologize for living a quiet and simple life here with my aunt and her friends."

"I offered you a home," he said quietly.

Olivia's mouth twisted bitterly. "Unfortunately, that is no longer an option for us, is it? I have broken your trust. And we both know how sparingly you grant forgiveness. I haven't asked for it, have I? It seems rather pointless to ask. _Do_ you forgive me?"

"For leaving without a word? For coming into my home with those intentions you did have? Lying, manipulating me into marriage?"

"You asked me," she said, her voice rising, breaking. "It is what I intended, yes, but you asked long before I had recovered enough from Robert's bashing to trick you into anything. I was never more grateful for anything in all of my life for the chance to get away from them. And I am terribly sorry that I used you to do it, but I am not sorry all at the same time."

"I am not completely heartless, Olivia. Do you think that I am? I offered you marriage because I could see that you were unhappy, and because I was as well. I only wondered if perhaps it might have been part of your scheme, but I am not blind. Robert is dangerous. Beatrice is likely the next to die by his hand. Even without this knowledge, I cannot blame you for what you did. I only wish you had confided in me." He walked over to her. "Tell me something. The day I met you. The very first day." He stared down at her, his gaze locked on hers, his eyes searching. It was the first hint of vulnerability he'd shown. It made her remember that none of this was his doing. That she had no right to be angry with him. "Did you know who I was?"

"No. Not until I returned to Sarlat." Olivia moved away from him, not yet ready for him to touch her. She felt twisted inside, uncertain what any of this meant. "I have done this before. You may as well know it all. I helped Charles cheat at cards. He was an excellent pickpocket – all the better if there was a fair face for the men to look upon while they were being robbed. Twice, I tempted men very close to marriage, and accepted a sizable deposit which I begged them shamelessly for so I could have the perfect wedding. Of course, I was already married to Charles. He pretended to be my brother. It was the most awful thing in the world I could do to a man – make him fall in love with me, and then leave him."

"And me?" Erik asked, the shield going back up in his eyes.

Olivia stared at him for a moment, considering. "Robert and I attempted to work together after Charles died. It was a complete failure. We tried on several different occasions to find a man who would fall for my charms." She looked away, feeling even more shameful. "It did not work. I was still devastated after losing my husband, and I forgot to take my wedding ring off. Robert nearly broke my finger in his haste to take it from me. Even then, I was unable to hold anyone's interest long enough for a passing glance. Monsieur Leverette chose you. I knew nothing about you until after I had met you. I was told that I would marry you no matter what it took, and after we were finished, we would stop. It was always one more person, just one more mark, and then Beatrice would retire. But I knew that it would never be enough. If they had taken your last franc, it would not be enough. So I offered her something else. A steady income. I told her that I wanted to stay with you."

"She agreed?"

"I convinced her," Olivia replied softly.

"An easy mark," Erik said.

"We were both unhappy. There is one great difference between you and those other men. I wanted to stay."

"And yet it was appallingly easy for you to leave."

She looked at him, mute with anger, and knowing he truly believed that. The very last thing she had told him was that she loved him, and he'd reacted with that mocking laugh of his, the memory of it still lingering in her mind. She wouldn't say it now. She wouldn't ever say it again. Laying bare her blighted past was one thing, but she refused to serve her heart up again and have it torn to shreds.

"I always knew that I would have to," she finally said, which was in part, the truth._ I only hoped, with all of my heart, that it would never come to be._

_

* * *

  
_

Erik left the inn with dawn beginning to break over the horizon, walking in no particular direction. Why had he believed that her past might not be as bad as he thought? Why had he not really considered that there might have been more men in her life? He hated the thought of her lying with other men. Most especially after he had just loved her so thoroughly. Perhaps it should not have mattered to him, but it did, very much so. Christine had lain with another man, and he'd not forgiven her. If he understood the Joliot's plan correctly, Olivia would have seduced him, and then he would have been effectively trapped into marriage. Instead, he had very naively done their work for them.

He found himself in a school yard, now covered in snow. There was a half constructed building nearby, enormous in size. He wandered towards it, going through the front doors and down the halls. It was the school that Olivia had spoken of. Soon, the girls would return to it, and the inn would go back to being just an inn. Her patrons would be men of all ages. Her first husband had been one of them, he thought bitterly. No doubt if he granted her the annulment, she would be remarried before the end of the year.

Erik entered one of the rooms filled with desks, scattered in a haphazard fashion. He sat down on top of one of them near the window and gazed back towards the inn, immune to the cold. He felt it inside and out. He turned her story around in his mind. The pieces fit well - his life with her, her life with the Joliots. He believed he knew everything now, but he wasn't certain if it mattered. They had said goodbye last night with their lovemaking. It had been final for him, and different for her. She'd not climaxed. Olivia _always_ climaxed, sometimes more than once. Perhaps that too had been for his benefit? He'd known she had not because it had been like that very often with Christine.

Christine had been a very passive lover. She'd been obedient, but only a little curious about his body. Not curious at all about her own. And sometimes she had pretended to come, but he'd known it was because she was tired and had wanted him to finish. It had never been like that with Olivia. She had always ensured his pleasure, always demanded her own.

No, he thought, Olivia never pretended with him. He closed his eyes, could see her in the throes of passion, and he knew that at least there she'd been genuine.

Did it really matter so much about her past? If he demanded her fidelity from this moment forward, would she give it? Or would she do as Christine, and turn to another even more?

At least this time he would be under no illusions.

He realized suddenly how much he wanted to take that chance with her. How much he needed her - and how very much he still loved her. Every touch she'd given him had been what he thought, what he believed - true, honest affection, even if those secrets had been there, locked away. She was still Olivia, the woman he'd come to know, the lover he'd wanted so much since she had left. He had not told her how he felt. If he asked her to come home, to be his wife again, would she say yes? Perhaps not. But he'd given in to that urge to propose to her, and he could not honestly say that he now regretted it. She was still that light in his darkness. Except that since he'd found her again, that light seemed dimmer now. Not yet extinguished, and it bothered him immensely that there was sadness in her eyes.

He practiced his speech, whispering the words to himself. For the first time since she had left, he began to feel alive, hope sustaining him, giving him courage once more to ask her to be his, only his, forever and ever.

* * *

If Gregory was surprised to see her in the apartment as he stumbled, sleepy eyed but dressed from his room, he did not show it. He accepted a cup of coffee quietly and sat down at the table, looking far too serious. He did not have that usual warmth in his eyes when he glanced up at her.

"Erik went out," she said quietly.

"I gather that things are unchanged?"

"So it would seem."

His gaze was accusatory, full of questions. Ones she did not feel obliged to answer, even to him.

"You're a very sweet young man," Olivia murmured. "And I thank you for everything that you have done for me. I know you must have felt as if you betrayed him as well, confiding in me as you did."

"Yes," he replied evenly.

She sighed. Was there no end to the trouble and pain she had caused? And it did not just begin with Erik. She wondered about the other two young men she had tricked. Would they ever trust another woman again? She remembered their names, their faces. Perhaps, if she counted her coins very carefully, she could send them a portion of what she had taken, along with an apology. It would be for her benefit really, not theirs, to ease her conscious. And she would never, in her entire lifetime, make up enough for what she'd taken from Erik, monetary, or otherwise.

"He will, of course, forgive you for everything," Gregory added, taking a sip of coffee. "If you will return with him to Sarlat."

"As his mistress? No."

"Mistress? You're already married."

"He offered me one of the cottages on the estate." Olivia turned and washed her cup out, dried it, and put it away. "I need more than he is able to give me. Even before all of this happened, I was wanting more. I should not blame him. And really, I do not. All the same, I want more than to be a mistress, more than a marriage of convenience. I might not deserve it, but from now on it is my choice."

Gregory stood. "I'm truly sorry then for ever encouraging him. I seem to have caused you both nothing but pain."

She did not turn around to face him, blinded by tears so much that she could not longer see what was in front of her. "Don't be. I am not sorry."

He cleared his throat. "Well. I am going to track down a driver. We should be leaving within two hours. If either of you change your mind...."

She said nothing further, and a few moments later he left. Olivia dried her hands and entered the living room, sitting in her father's old chair. She remembered suddenly that she had seen Erik put something in the cushion the night before, and ran her hand along the edge. A long black velvet box was tucked between the arm and the seat. She opened it, her breath catching at a stunning three stranded blue sapphire bracelet. The gems were squared, beautiful and precious, set against silver. She lifted it out, found her name engraved on a small silver tab near the clasp. Instinctively she put it on, just to see what it felt like to wear something so beautiful again. Charles had bought expensive jewelry, but it had often been gaudy and not suited for her at all. Robert had managed to take everything after he died – and she had let him, because those gifts had been purchased with dishonest money.

This, she loved. A parting gift, she wondered.

She jumped as someone knocked quietly on the door, and leapt to her feet, trying to undo the clasp. It wouldn't budge. Panicked, she pulled on her coat, pulling the sleeves down past her wrist, and stuffed the box back into the cushion. She would put it back later, but she did not want Erik to see her wearing it, especially if he had no intentions of giving it to her.

They knocked again, more impatiently, and she scurried over to open it.

She did not even open her mouth before the man entered, removing his hat and cloak, reaching for her. But it was not Erik. He had changed his appearance slightly. His hair was darker, and he'd grown a full beard, but she knew those hard mean eyes instantly, and cringed in fear.

"Get inside," Robert ordered her, pushing her backwards. "Who else is in here?"

"No one," she whispered, feeling frozen. He had a gun in his hands, and she stared at it rather than him. "What do you want?"

"Isn't it rather obvious, Livvie?" He advanced into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. "I want what I worked so hard for. Erik de Villier's fortune."

"You're too late. He is giving me an annulment."

His reptilian smile made her go cold. "Hardly dear. The only thing he's going to do is die. And I _will_ reap the benefits of his death, through you. I bet you never thought you'd be widowed twice."

She blanched. "You killed Charles, didn't you?"

He just continued to smile, pointing with the gun the direction he wanted her to go. He directed her into the kitchen, pulling a chair out with one foot and sliding it out.

"Where are my manners? Please, sit. It's not good for a widow to be on her feet."

"Have you hurt him?" she demanded, unmoving.

"Not yet." He laid the gun on the table, producing a rope from his pocket. "Don't even think of screaming, or I'll make him bleed out nice and slow. It could take hours for a man to die if he's shot in the stomach. Did you know that?"

"As opposed to the back?"

Robert glared at her as he grabbed her wrists, yanking them out and wrapping the rope tightly around them. He pushed her down into the chair, letting out a low whistle as he examined the bracelet, but he did not try to remove it. "Very nice," he murmured, winking at her. "I'm so glad that you managed to find someone special, someone with exquisite taste, though the saying goes that a fool and his money are soon parted. If you are very good, Olivia, I might even leave you a scrap or two of his fortune." His eyes lit suddenly. "How do you feel about being the wife of a Vicomte? I could arrange it, you know. And how poetic would that be for de Villiers!"

"You're insane."

His eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing. He finished tying her hands, then wrapped another rope several times around her body and tied it behind the chair. "Wait right here. I'm just going to take a peek in these other rooms. I know how well of a liar you are."

She dropped her gaze down to her bound wrists, trying to work them free. She only succeeded in making them more uncomfortable. Frantically she searched the kitchen, remembering that she'd had a knife earlier. It was across the table. She glanced over her shoulder as she inched her chair forward, palming it quickly and holding it inside her sleeve flat against her forearm. She might only have one chance to use it, and wondered if she should try to kill him with it, or try to free herself. She wanted to kill him. But she knew that her chances of doing so were very slim. She knew all too well his strength, and that he could knock her flat on her back with one blow.

"Gregory will be coming back any minute," she called out.

He laughed from her bedroom. "The stableboy? He'll not be disturbing our fun, Olivia. Don't you fear." He came back to her in the kitchen, looking down at her. "The only question I have, is where might your husband be?"

"He left this morning, and he has not come back." She lifted her chin. "I am not sure if he will, given what I told him. Why don't you stop this now, Robert?"

He pressed his face very close to hers. "I will have my revenge. Do you know that Monsieur Leverette dared to laugh at me for the humiliation I suffered at your dear husband's hands? Even though he was dispatched as well, he dared to_ laugh_."

"Is that why you killed Charles?" she whispered. "Did he laugh at you?"

"My brother was very dear to me, Olivia. It was not an easy decision for me, you know. There was Mother to consider, of course, and he was my flesh and blood, after all. It was your fault that he had to die." He glared at her. "He never had time for me once you came along. And yes, I do believe he laughed when I would fai...when things would happen to ruin my plans. But he is not here now, is he? You must admit to me that this plan - well, it is _brilliant_. How misfortunate that Mother didn't see things my way. No matter. She will not ever order me around again. It'll just be you and me, Livvie. Just you and me. Doesn't that sound nice?"

They both turned as they heard footsteps racing up the stairs. She felt her heart drop as they tried the door, then she heard Erik's voice calling her name.

"His timing is impeccable. If you say a word, I will shoot him before he has a chance to speak." Robert moved behind the door and unlocked it. "Call to him," he hissed.

She shook her head, tears running down her face, her heart racing.

"Don't come in! Erik do not come inside!" She shouted.

_"Olivia?"_

"Do not come in!"

"Stupid, stupid," Robert said furiously, backing away from the door and towards her. "You will pay for that, Livvie."

Erik kicked the door open, stepping inside. He looked from Robert to Olivia, the blood draining from his face.

"Do not hurt her," Erik said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"I have no intention of it," Robert said, moving behind her. He patted her head gently with one hand, the gun rubbing against her temple. "She's invaluable to me now. Rich widows are hard to come by. Olivia will become my very own personal black widow. Mother never wanted to leave Paris, you know. But I think a trip to London will be in order soon. After your funeral, of course."

Erik met her eyes, horror beginning to dawn in them. Not for her own fate, but for his own.

"I will give you whatever you want," he said quietly. "Just let us go. Let her go."

Saying nothing, Robert took a cloth from the counter and held it out to Olivia. "Open your mouth, dear. I'll make this as painless for you as you want it to be."

She held her mouth open, beginning to breathe in pure panic. She held Erik's gaze, beginning to sob as she realized how desperate the situation really was.

"Let me say goodbye to him. Please," she whispered, just before Robert stuffed the rag into her mouth.

"I am not an inconsiderate man." He waved the gun at Erik. "I can give a dying man a last wish. Make it quick."

Erik rushed to her, pulling the rag free, anger burning in his eyes. "Did he hurt you?" he whispered.

"No. No. Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "So sorry. I wish I had never come here. I wish I had gone where he could never find me."

He took her hands, felt the bracelet, and then the knife. He looked into her eyes.

"Take it," she whispered. "Take it."

"I can't," he mouthed back. He touched the bracelet, looked up at her somberly. "It looks perfect on you. I knew it would."

She broke then, in his arms, inconsolably weeping, and she felt one of his hands trying the knots. She turned her shoulder slightly so Robert could not see.

"That's good, Olivia. That's very good work," Robert said, sounding cheerful. "That's the feeling you are to convey at the funeral. No one wants to see a happy widow. I know how distasteful being mounted by him must have been. We'll find someone to console you in no time at all, pretty young thing that you are. Not I - never! But someone will come along, Livvie. Just wait and see."

Erik stood, facing him. Olivia watched helplessly as Erik swung his fist, neatly cracking Robert's jaw. But the other man was braced, ready for it. The gun stayed leveled with Erik's head, and with his free hand he rubbed his chin.

"There is something you should know," Erik said. "After your visit with Leverette, I had my solicitor draw up a will. Olivia was never included. I never bothered to change it after our marriage, but I did after I found out who she really was. I am a patron of the opera, Monsieur, the Populaire, in fact, as was Leverette. I am sure you know how much money he sank into that. All of my money is going towards music. It is the only thing in my life that has ever given me any fulfillment. Half is going to the opera, the rest of it to a school that is being built in Paris. A music conservatory for the gifted."

"Which is why I took the liberty of drawing you up another. No one will contest it." Robert produced a piece of paper from his pocket, then lifted a pen from the desk. He placed the gun at Olivia's temple once more. "You'll sign it, or I'll make this very nasty for both of you."

Erik leaned over the desk, reading everything carefully, a muscle leaping in his jaw. He signed it with a flourish, then tossed the pen on the desk. "It appears you've thought of everything."

"Put the rag back into her mouth, and let's go for a walk," Robert said in response.

"Alright," Erik said calmly.

"What?" Olivia whispered, looking up at him. "Erik, no. _No_!"

He touched her cheek. "Open for me, Olivia."

She shook her head. "I won't let him take you, I lo-"

He put the rag in her mouth mid sentence. "I'm sorry, Olivia." He set his lips at her ear. "Trust me. Do what you can with that knife. Get away from here as quickly as you can. Go the way you came in last night. Hide. _Whatever it takes, Olivia. Whatever it takes, do you understand?"_

She nodded, helpless, then watched him leave with Robert.

_Whatever it takes,_ she thought, working the knife free.

Gasping at the pain it caused her to bend her wrists, Olivia began to saw at the fibers, only able to move the knife an inch at a time, sobbing the entire time. She had to do something. She could not sit idly by and see him killed. She tried rocking the chair side to side, hoping the clatter might awaken some of the girls, or her aunt. Anyone who could free her.

The rope had finally begun to fray, when she heard the distant echo of a single gunshot.

* * *

We are nearing the end of this story now, and I am feeling a bit sad that it is almost over. I believe there is one more chapter left to post, then I need to write up an epilogue for the story. Thanks to everyone who has been reading & reviewing, and a **most special** thanks to rappleyea. This story just would not have been the same without her!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Erik had simply wanted Robert as far away from Olivia as possible, but perhaps this was not the smartest way to go about it. He felt all too much the gun pointed at his back. They went down the stairs quietly, and moved immediately away from the inn, back in the direction Erik had come from.

"This way," Robert grunted, shoving Erik with the tips of his fingers.

Erik turned his head, keeping his anger in check. "Do you really think you'll get away with this? Another gunshot victim? It's a little too obvious, isn't it?"

"I'm not overly concerned. Why should you be? It's very nice that you would worry about my welfare, de Villiers, but there's really no need. Olivia will be there to look after me."

Erik said nothing, not wanting to taunt Robert into shooting him prematurely. He tromped through the snow ahead of Robert, keeping his eyes open. He was completely defenseless, never having a need to carry a weapon. Mentally he searched his pockets, but there didn't seem to be anything there that would help. He wished he had taken the knife from Olivia, but Robert had been standing there, and he had not wanted to take any chances that he might see. No matter what happened, he wanted Olivia to be well away from the inn by the time Robert returned to it. She was a smart girl, resourceful. He only hoped she would be practical and not try anything foolish if she did escape.

"It must be rather bothersome, relying on a woman to do all the work," Erik said, his tone conversational. "Unpredictable creatures, they are."

"And don't I know it," Robert muttered.

"Wouldn't it be much easier for you to entice some young thing into marriage? With the right person, you would never have to worry about money again."

"Why, de Villiers, I'm honored you would think of me! But I'm no Don Juan. Nothing like you, I'm sure," he said, chuckling. "Poor Olivia. I'll make sure the next fellow is handsome. She'll like that very much, I think. I mentioned the Vicomte de Chagny to her. She didn't seem revolted by the idea."

_Emma._

Erik stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "Are you really that much of a bastard?"

Robert gave a fleshy grin. "I do enjoy a challenge. Charles had no imagination. Mother would never let me have fun. Leverette was the only one who ever appreciated my ideas, but he was always nagging about the money. As long as I have two coins to rub together, I'll find a way to turn them into four. I really found a treasure in you, de Villiers. You have it all. And the best thing is, no one will really miss you once you're dead."

"My wife will."

"Oh that?" Robert shrugged, waving the gun about carelessly. "That was for your benefit, nothing more. She's very good at what she does. And she doesn't even know it, perhaps that is the best thing about it. Mother was always trying to force it, trying to make us work together. She really does better on her own. Charles couldn't see it either. He was too dazzled by the idea of having a wife."

Erik took a step towards him as he was talking, and Robert didn't seem to notice at first, but then that weaselly smile spread.

"Nice try, my friend." He lifted the gun. "We're not quite far enough away from the inn. I can't have all those schoolmarms rushing out, now can I? Start walking."

"I'm though with your orders. Why don't you put that away, and we can settle this like gentlemen? Unless you have another gun?"

"I have another idea. You walk off into the woods over there, and I'll give you a nice clean kill shot. No lingering for days. Charles didn't die right off, you know. It must have taken...." he made a face, "....about three or four hours. Maybe a little longer. I got tired of waiting. Leverette wasn't a challenge at all. You must have addled his brain a little. Mother was very angry when she found out I killed Charles. You shouldn't have said that to her."

Erik caught a small movement behind Robert out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't look. He prayed it wasn't Olivia, and was relieved when Gregory's lean face peered out from behind a tree. Robert was huffing so loudly to catch his breath that he would never hear him. All Erik had to do was keep him talking for awhile.

"What's wrong, Robert? Did she not love you enough? Or perhaps she loved you a little too much?"

Robert's face began to turn an unhealthy shade of red. With fury mounting, he pointed the gun at Erik's leg.

"I've decided to make you suffer after all. Take your mask off. I want Olivia to have something to remember you by."

"As you wish," Erik murmured, stripping off his mask and tossing it aside in the snow.

Joliot's eyes widened, and the gun lowered as he took in the ghastly sight. Erik saw his opportunity and he took it, launching himself across the snow. Too late Robert realized his mistake, but he could do nothing more than stare as the horrid face descended on him, and Erik overtook him, throwing them both back into the snow. Erik drove his knee into the arm with the gun, and his fist in Robert's face. Gregory rushed up behind him, his own gun withdrawn. He snatched Robert's from his hand, and threw it away into the snow.

Erik glanced up at Gregory. There was blood running down the side of his face.

"He hit me from behind. Is Olivia...."

"She's safe."

He looked back down at Robert, the bastard was giving him a bloody smile.

"You really are ugly, de Villiers. No wonder she left you," he wheezed.

Erik cocked his head, then pulled his arm back and let his fist fly again. He had the satisfaction of feeling several teeth shatter beneath his hand. The man screamed in pain, writhing uncontrollably.

"What do you want to do with him?" Gregory asked.

"I want to kill him," Erik breathed.

He stood before he did just that, watching the man hold his mouth, trying to get to his feet.

"I informed Olivia's aunt that a constable was needed. They should be here soon."

"Then he will live, only to see the inside of a prison cell." Erik could not resist, however, lifting his boot into Robert's gut. The man rolled away several feet, gasping for breath. "I am going to make sure Olivia is alright. Can you handle him?"

Gregory nodded, looking him full in the face for the first time. He gave nothing away, but Erik quickly grew uncomfortable under his steady gaze.

He turned, glancing across the snow for the mask, but not seeing it.

"Find the mask, bring it with you," he said, not wanting to be caught when the constable came.

"I will, Erik," Gregory replied quietly. "Go to her."

_"Or go to Hell!" _Joliot shouted suddenly.

Erik looked over in time to see Robert pull a smaller pistol from a leg harness, and point it at him. It felt as if the world slowed, then stopped. Time was no longer his. Life, no longer his, except for those fleeting glimpses that flashed before his eyes. He had been in this place before, with Christine, with Tylin. And now, Olivia, and her beautiful blue eyes, filled with tears was waiting for him, and she would go on waiting.

He heard the gun go off.

But he felt nothing.

And suddenly life returned, vivid and surreal. Robert's head, which no longer held a face, was spread out on the snow in a striking array. The unfired gun fell from his hands as he crumpled to the ground.

"I killed him," Erik heard Gregory whisper.

* * *

Olivia screamed in frustration as the gunshot faded away. The rag in her mouth stifled it, and hot tears spilled across her cheeks as she sobbed, anger and grief overwhelming her, making her forget her need to escape. She fought against her bonds violently, but they did not give. She gripped the knife with renewed strength, sawing incrementally until first one strand gave free, then another.

_Erik._

He could not be dead. She would not let him be.

And yet she remembered that when Charles had died she refused to believe it at first. Even after his funeral, she'd been in denial, not wanting to let him go. As angry as she had been with him, as much as she had sometimes hated him and the things that he did, he was still her husband, and she'd been a good wife to him. She had tried so very hard to be a good wife to Erik. Trapped in her own lies, she had made the best of things, and fallen in love with a man who was too jaded to believe in it anymore.

Now he was dead because of her, and she had not been able to tell him and make him believe it.

She worked the rag free with her tongue as she continued cutting the rope, relieved when at last her hands were free. She was only able to bend her arms enough to cut the top few ropes that bound her torso to the chair. Laying the knife aside, she worked the rest of them free, panting from the effort as she slid down the chair to the floor. She picked up the knife again once she was free, wishing she had a gun, praying it was not too late to save him. Before she could decide what to do, she heard someone racing up the stairs, and she darted for the passageway, moving all the way back against the door that led to the hotel. Her lungs felt as if they would burst from the effort it took to breathe, and she searched her pockets, looking for the key to the hotel, too late remembering that she'd left it on her nightstand.

She was trapped.

Perhaps when he saw that she was gone he would leave. But his footsteps stopped directly in front of the door, and she knew she'd not found a place to hide soon enough. He had seen her. He searched with his hands, and she could sense the desperation in his quick, impatient movements. He found the hidden seam, and pushed lightly, the door opening.

Hate drove her forward, silently, decisively, and she raised the knife. His hand clamped around her wrists, and he tightened down hard on the one holding the knife.

A long, low desperate moan broke out of her throat. She fought wildly, kicking him and beating him with her fists. She heard him grunt in pain, and she waited for him to strike her.

"You crazy bastard!" She shrieked.

"It's me. Olivia. Olivia! It's alright." He pulled her slightly towards the light of the apartment, and it was not Robert's cruel eyes that looked down into hers, but Erik's.

Erik did not relax his grip on her until he was certain she would not hit him again. When it finally came to her that she was safe, her knees buckled beneath her. He eased her down to the floor, halfway in the passageway, half into the apartment, where she trembled uncontrollably, unable to speak. The knife clattered to the floor, and he tossed it away and drew her up against his side.

"You're safe," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Olivia began to cry again then, soundless, great wracking sobs that were too painful to hold in. Her face buried against his chest, her hands balled into fists that rested between them, he just let her release it all. His free hand rested against the back of her head, stroking her hair. She was not sure how long they sat like that, but it was well after the last of her tears were gone. Her nerves were not quite steady as she began to pull away.

His mask was gone. Erik turned his face, averting his eyes from hers, but she took his chin.

"I th-thought you were dead," she said, her voice hoarse and tongue feeling thick and clumsy. She fit her palm around the misshapen cheek, and he leaned into her touch. "I heard a shot."

"Gregory's," he said quietly. "Robert came very close. Your aunt is summoning a constable."

He gazed down at her, his expression as unreadable as ever, and she began to feel as if she'd lost him all over again. She remembered what he had told Robert - that after he had found out who she really was, he'd changed his will, excluding her entirely. It was not the money that mattered, it was that he'd been able to carve her out of his life so easily. No more so than she had done with him.

"Is there no forgiveness in you?" she asked softly, searching him for any sign of emotion. He looked away from her again, and anger flooded her all at once. "Do you care for me at all, or was I just a warm body to satisfy your urges? Sometimes I wondered if there was anything beneath that prickly exterior of yours other than pride and wounds so deep that I would never be able to heal them. I know there has to be a heart in there somewhere, Erik. I love you. I have said it once to you, and it was not perhaps the best time, but I couldn't bring myself to say it again, because you laughed at me. I did not think you felt the same. If you ever_ could _feel the same. And I was right, wasn't I?

He turned to look at her, shock evident in his wide eyes, and he just stared at her.

Humiliated, she tried to stand, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. He forced her hand against his chest and spread her palm out, his own covering hers. She did not think she had ever seen such a frightening expression on anyone's face before.

"This heart beats for you," he said roughly, his eyes glittering with anger. "I forgave you long ago, Olivia. For everything except for _leaving _me. Do I love you? Do I? Would I have come all this way if I did not? Would I have gone to Paris searching for you, wondering if Robert might have already murdered you as well? You have no idea how far out of my mind I went. I thought I'd never see you again, and when I found you here safe and content, yes I was angry. You no longer needed my protection, and that was the only thing I had to offer you. _My heart beats for you. _It always will."

And then he pulled her against him completely and kissed her with such intensity that warmth began to flood her, finally driving away the well of cold and emotions that had gripped her so tightly. She put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him back, until a darker desire began to set in, and they knew they had to stop.

She pressed her forehead against his, gasping for air, and looking into his eyes.

"I love you," he finally said, his tone gentler. "Come home with me, Olivia. It is not the same without you. _I _am not the same. Please."

"Yes," she whispered. "And I promise you that I will never leave again. I did not want to go. Surely you know that?"

"I thought you went back to Beatrice. I went looking for you there."

"Never. I would never have gone back." She looked at him curiously. "You really went to Paris?"

He took her hand, sliding her coat up over her wrist. She blushed as he pressed a kiss just above the bracelet. "This is your belated Christmas gift. I did not even know if I would find you, but when I saw it, I thought of you." He reached into his pocket suddenly, and withdrew a sheet of paper, crumpling it into a ball. "Robert's version of my will," he said quietly. "It would not have mattered, because I did leave everything to you. My conscience would not allow me to leave the woman I love destitute should something ever happen to me. Your belongings that I brought, they were from Paris. Not from our home. I know you must have thought so. I am sorry for letting you think that. And I did forgive Emma. I have even weakened my position in regards to her husband. So you see, I am not completely unchangeable."

"Oh Erik, I did not want you to _change_. I know how difficult your life is. I just wanted to share those burdens with you a little. I wanted you to know that you're not alone anymore. That if you wanted, I would go anywhere with you, and I would not tolerate that sort of mindless gawking or those vicious rumors that those women in your Mother's house were spreading. I would not tolerate our own staff listening or participating." She kissed him tenderly. "I know that you crave music. It is in your soul. And if you want to go and enjoy it, we will find a way. I did not want you to stay in the shadows any longer. But I did not think that I mattered enough to you that you would let me lead you away from them."

"You are as foolish as I am," he whispered. "You mean everything to me, Olivia. I never said that I would make an easy husband. I can only promise you that I will spend the rest of my life making up for these last terrible months."

He gathered her in his arms again, and kissed her.

And kissed her.

And that was exactly how her Aunt Coraline found them.


	18. Chapter 18

_Epilogue_

_6 months later_

_Paris, France_

The crowd pressed all around him, and Erik felt Olivia's hand tighten around his arm. The Théâtre-Français suddenly felt very small, and in it he felt large and prominent. Occasionally he would meet the eye of one of the blushing ladies, or the inscrutable expressions of the gentlemen. As the honored guest, it seemed there was no escape, but thankfully it was almost time for the concert to begin. He glanced down at his wife, but she was engaged in conversation with Monsieur Trouin, one of the teachers from the school, though she had not released his arm for more than a few seconds the entire night. Were he not so grateful for her attentiveness, he might have been embarrassed at her protectiveness, or even amused.

Catching a glimpse of a familiar face weaving through the crowd, Erik attempted to break away from Olivia to receive his sister. Reluctantly she let him go, her eyes filled with mirth as he murmured against her ear. She waved at Emma, and turned her attention back to Monsieur Trouin and his dry humor.

"I'm sorry we're so late," Emma said, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek. He more than willingly followed her away from the crowd, towards the edge of the room where her husband waited patiently. He gave the Vicomte a civil nod, which was returned without words. "I was wearing a different gown, and Alexi decided to decorate it with her dinner."

"A likely excuse," he replied, smiling down at her.

"Yes, and you'll soon know what I mean in the coming months. It is good to see Olivia out and about. I was becoming concerned. Just last week she looked absolutely wretched. I have never seen anyone so green."

"She's always beautiful," Erik returned, studying his wife from across the room. Silently he agreed that she looked refreshed, her cheeks beginning to bloom and her face becoming full - the welcome signs of motherhood, that both terrified and excited him. "She is only unwell in the morning hours. The remainder of the day is spent keeping my hands from being idle, and my mind from any thought to peace."

"A wife's work is never done," his sister teased.

Secretly he was content that Olivia doted on him so, but he would never admit to it. She had opened her heart to his completely since the death of Robert Joliot, and he now understood why she had kept secrets from him. Her fear had been genuine, and the loneliness and desperation that she'd felt, her longing for freedom, all of it had culminated in near tragedy. It still caused him panic to think of the moment when he had almost lost her, when they had almost lost each other. Even now he wanted to return to her side, despite the crowd of people.

As if she heard his thought, he saw her excuse herself from the teacher and cross the room to his side.

"You look suspiciously secretive in this quiet corner," she murmured, linking her arm through his. "You aren't thinking of escape, are you?"

"Never," he answered, smiling slightly. "I was ordered to come here under threat of injury. I feared for my life."

Olivia playfully slapped his arm, laughing. "Shame! I never threatened to hurt you!"

"I wasn't speaking of you. I was referring to my sister."

Emma's eyes twinkled with mischief as Olivia gave her a reproachful look. "Well you weren't going to get him to come all by yourself. And look at all of this," she said, gesturing towards the lobby, "they have come to celebrate something very special - the opening of the music school, and you are the reason the school became a reality for those children."

"Many people are responsible for the building of the school," Erik protested.

"Yes, but none of them contributed quite as much," his sister returned. "I am not speaking of money, Erik. What you have done, devoting nearly two years of your life building instruments for them - for free. Father would be so proud of you, as proud as I am. And our Mother, who sends her love."

Erik felt quite embarrassed to see tears in her eyes, and in the eyes of his wife. He noticed the Vicomte looked very uncomfortable, and he looked in vain for an escape. The crowd behind him suddenly looked rather appealing.

"Ah, don't be such a man and look so distressed at the merest compliment. Go on, take your wife up to the balcony and let her recover."

Gladly he took Olivia's hand and led her around the edge of the room, reaching the stairs and breathing a sigh of relief as they left the warmth of the crowd for the slight breeze that came from the balcony. She followed him through the open doors, releasing his hand as he leaned out over the rail, peering down at the city. It seemed they were the only ones in the city, despite the sound of carriages moving in the street below and the muted sound of the guests in the theater.

"It's lovely up here," she breathed. "I used to hate this city, but from this view I can see why they call Paris the City of Lights."

"That is not it's only name," Erik whispered, reaching for her hand. "Come, Olivia."

She stepped in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, his body pressed against her back. She closed her eyes as he kissed the side of her neck, turning her head slightly to meet his lips. He smiled down at her.

"Can you feel it?"

"Yes, and it's quite inappropriate at the moment," she answered, chuckling. "I hope you can wait until we get back to the townhouse."

"We shall see on that account, my love, but that is not what I am referring to," Erik replied dryly. "Close your eyes. Can you feel the magic of this city around us? It has seen countless tragedies, and just as many romances. Thousands of people have fallen under her spell and fallen in love here."

"We did not need Paris to help us fall in love."

"No. But it was here where I realized that I loved you with my entire heart, and I knew that I could not rest until I'd looked upon your face again and found you safe. I will forever regret the stubborn fool that I was."

Olivia turned in his arms, bringing his lips down to hers. "No more regrets. We are together now, and that is all that matters."

"What would you say if I wanted to live here?" Erik asked softly. "At least until after the babe has come."

"Live in Paris?" Olivia looked away, troubled by the thought. She had finally come to terms with her past, and broken free of the woman she had been. The last thing she wanted was a reminder of the Joliots. Erik turned her face back to his, searching her eyes. His expression was fully of worry. "Why do you want to live here?" she whispered.

"Our home in Sarlat is too remote. There are no doctors. If something should happen, I want you - both of you - to be safe. For my peace of mind, Olivia, please consider it."

"I will," she promised, knowing how truly concerned he must be to request it of her, given his discomfort of crowds. Had she known Emma had pressed him into coming this night, she would not have left him alone for even a moment, but Erik had seemed very calm – right up until the moment they had arrived. "Would you like to go home now? We do not have to stay if..."

"I would like to," he said quickly. "But Emma is right. I have devoted two years to this project, I should see the children play."

"I will be right by your side," Olivia whispered, understanding that perhaps this is something he needed to do for himself. It brought joy to her heart to see him tentatively reaching out towards humanity. And perhaps if they did stay in Paris through her convalescence he might even make peace with the rest of his past. Perhaps she could even do the same. She knew the coming months would be bittersweet for him, and the unexpected child who grew within her body would be beyond painful to hold and love. Erik had been stunned to silence when she had told him the news, and she could hardly believe it herself, but there was no denying the burgeoning swell of her stomach once it began.

"And I will always be by yours," Erik said softly. He leaned down to kiss her again. "Both of you."

The first strains of the concert reached their ears, the melody so beautiful it made them both stop and simply listen. Erik closed his eyes at the stirring those lovely sounds brought to his heart - those lovely healing sounds. He was suddenly quite grateful to have his heart seduced and broken by this woman, only to have it repaired with her love. If she had not left him, he never would have found the courage to leave his home in search of her, and never would have come on this night, to hear the wondrous music coming from the theater. He was very glad he had recommended the concert to be here at the Théâtre-Français, rather than the Opera Populaire.

"What are you thinking of?"

"The ruse," he answered, smiling when she began to scowl. He was smiling still as he led her from the balcony towards the music, and towards another new beginning.

* * *

I am so very sorry to be getting this to you so late. Without going into details, let's just say that April really really was not my month. On a brighter note, I am beginning my Cowboy Erik story anew. It's going really well too! I hope you guys will come back for more, though I can't say when it will be finished. And I'll finish this one completely before posting - Promise! It was good to be back for this story, even if it was brief & rather to the point. Just glad to know I still know how to "ride a bike".


End file.
